


Alchemy

by gauthannja



Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: F/M, Rice Bowl, Romance, Sexual Harassment, University, policy warfare, supportive boyfriend omg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-01-07 05:18:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18403895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gauthannja/pseuds/gauthannja
Summary: “What's wrong?” His tone was scathing and suspicious. He sure as hell wasn't worrying about her, but he wanted to dispel any illusions she might have about being able to hide things from him.Mamori glanced up with a flicker of surprise—apprehension?—but smoothly returned her attention to the open page. “Nothing. I'm sorry if I kept you waiting.”“I wasn't waiting. You were on time.”“What is your problem, then?”“Something’s wrong.”“Why should something be wrong?”Hiruma held up the roster list for the upcoming Rice Bowl, so fresh off the press (at the expense of the assistant dean's copy code) it practically burned his hands. “You haven't asked about this, for one.”Her expression transformed as she must have realized how much evidence he had accumulated and how pointless it was to deny it any longer. And yet, despite that knowledge, she uttered the words, “Nothing is wrong.”====Warning for sexualized abuse of power and for s w e a r i n g!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on a combination of experiences of friends and acquaintances, and I was trying to work through what they struggled with through fiction. Although writing this has been somewhat productive for me, it may simply seem gratuitous to the reader. I hope this is not the case.

Hiruma couldn't stop glancing at the door. It didn't really matter, but the fact that it hadn't opened—even though he knew it would open any moment (but despite thinking this and expecting it, it still hadn't opened)—was a tiny bit curious. It was a little suspense that he hadn't anticipated. For the moment—a moment that felt slightly longer than the few minutes that had actually passed—it was simply something of note.

Completely outside the comprehension of the vast majority of dumbasses out there, the world was full of the raw materials of all kinds of interesting shit. Potential. Noticing was the crucial ingredient to guard against a life that was boring as fuck. Every moment was saturated with information—intrigues and secrets to decode—but it took some practice to sift out the pieces of the puzzle and string them together… all so that he could blast it apart and reassemble the parts into something more fun or interesting or useful. It was alchemy: the transmutation of what was into what he imagined it could be.

Making it real was the easy part, once he could imagine how to rearrange the order of things. This generally involved breaking rules. Easy. Too easy, sometimes. And, unfortunately, college had somehow made even his precious flaunting of rules remarkably boring.

The clubhouse door opened. Hiruma pretended to focus on his laptop screen while taking in as many details as he could from his peripheral vision as Mamori entered. None of her limbs were in a cast, her hair hadn't been burned off, she wasn't clutching a dishevelled pile of papers and books, and she didn't seem out of breath. No obvious indicators, in other words. That slight drag in her step wasn't usually there, though—or was it? He scanned his memory but couldn't recall a light scrape. Was it something, or nothing? He made note of it and kept his senses wide open, inhaling data.

She pulled the chair back from the table—more slowly than usual, and a touch less gently—and sat opposite him, as always, straight and poised like a poor drawing of a good girl. Here she was closer to the centre of his vision and it was much easier to take in the details as she unpacked her things, but it was the sounds that got his attention: the unevenness of her pull on the pencil case zipper; the dull thud when she let the notebook fall instead of setting it down carefully and smoothing the pages open. On top of all this was the fact that she still had not greeted him with her polite and kind (but never cutesy or overly sweet) ‘good afternoon, Hiruma-kun’ as she persistently did even though he only ever replied with a crude remark (when he replied at all)-- and from the way she was staring at the mechanical pencil in her hand as if it held the answers to life's deepest mysteries, it didn't seem like she was about to anytime soon. The situation had ceased to be merely curious.

“You’re late, fuckin’ manager,” he said.

Mamori snapped from her daze, momentarily flustered, then gathered enough of her wits to glance at her watch and calm herself. “Don't be ridiculous, I'm exactly on time.”

“You’re always early.”

“Which is why it shouldn't matter if I am late once in a while,” she replied, turning back to her notebook. “And, anyway, I'm not late.”

Hiruma narrowed his eyes. There was some coiled energy in there, but he couldn't detect that little flame of indignation that normally burned under her rebuttals.

“What's wrong?” His tone was scathing and suspicious. He sure as hell wasn't worrying about her, but he wanted to dispel any illusions she might have about being able to hide things from him.

Mamori glanced up with a flicker of surprise—apprehension?—but smoothly returned her attention to the open page. “Nothing. I'm sorry if I kept you waiting.”

“I wasn't waiting. You were on time.”

“What is your problem, then?”

“Something’s wrong.”

“Why should something be wrong?”

Hiruma held up the roster list for the upcoming Rice Bowl, so fresh off the press (at the expense of the assistant dean's copy code) it practically burned his hands. “You haven't asked about this, for one.”

Her expression transformed as she must have realized how much evidence he had accumulated and how pointless it was to deny it any longer. And yet, despite that knowledge, she uttered the words, “Nothing is wrong.”

Mamori reached across the table for the roster and he tossed it in her general direction. Her eyes scanned over it but lost their focus part way down the second page. Hiruma grated his teeth. He didn't spend a lot of time enumerating the things he liked about this woman, but one of them was definitely how she kept her head on her shoulders regardless of stress or drama or other distractions. In this sense he knew she was not only his equal, not only something reliable in an otherwise uncertain world, not only someone who understood what it took to pull off the shit that he did and the hidden costs of it… not just that, no. But anyway. What he noticed now, in her late entry and her lack of focus, was not an unfulfilled potential calling out to him; it was a disruption of the proper order of things that needed to be righted. So there was only one thing to do.

Mamori looked up as he unearthed his favourite M249 SAW from its hiding place.

“Do you really need a machine gun to work on the stats analysis?” she asked, with exactly the same disapproving tone as she might have on any other day, but he had already come to his conclusion and couldn't be fooled. There was the satisfying clatter as he slid the ammo belt into the magazine feed and locked it in place.

“Where were you?”

“Hiruma..."

“You weren’t early. You’re always early.” He looped a spare bandolier of 5.56mm rubber bullets over his shoulder. “So where were you?”

Under ordinary conditions, Mamori would have retorted that it was none of his business where she had been or what she had been doing, but she caved immediately. She almost seemed to be trying to bargain with information instead. “I met with the professor after class. That's all.” _Now please just sit down_ , he could almost hear her say with that imploring look.

A professor! Yes, that was excellent, someone with authority to be stripped of: his favorite kind of prey. He was starting to salivate, with this vision in his mind and the tantalizing weight of the gun in his arms, but in the same instant a shadow fell over his glistening anticipation. A professor had caused his fucking manager to act like a simple useless girl. A professor had managed to get to her, had made her late and compromised her focus. Hiruma couldn't imagine how— or rather, he could imagine, but there were far too many scenarios ranging from bad to worse ricocheting through his mind and it would be poor judgment to focus on only a few of them. The specifics didn't matter. He cocked the gun. “How will I identify my target?”

“Hiruma…”

“A professor, eh? I can just take out all of them, in that case! Kehkehkeh!” he replied enthusiastically, moving toward the door.

“Hiruma, don't. They didn't do anything.”

“So tell me which one has to pay!”

“Don’t—!” She chased after him and grabbed at his sleeve to keep him back. “Don't kill anyone!”

“Tch. I won't kill them. Just make them wish I had,” he laughed again.

The fabric of his shirt slipped through her fingers and she grasped at it again as if it would make a difference. “Please, just don't... don't do anything.”

He was getting impatient with her lack of cooperation. “One by one, I guess.” He kicked open the door.

“Hiruma, I said stop it!!”

Sometimes her voice could get this desperate command to it that froze him in his tracks. It wasn't a weapon that she used against him—for the thousands of times she wished he would obey her, it was rarely used and never intentionally. It only came through when she was losing control of herself. And the fucking manager was the pinnacle of self control. He very much did not like what that tone meant.

“I’ll take care of it on my own.” Her voice was slightly harsh, probably to try to make him back down by projecting confidence as she gathered up her unravelled composure. What the actual fuck had happened? Who was this bastard (he assumed it was a man, but was also willing to call a woman a bastard if one was to blame) who needed him to deliver what they had coming to them so badly?

Hiruma was still standing with one foot out the door, fully automatic artillery rifle hoisted against his shoulder, when Mamori cracked a pathetic little smile. She blinked a bit too hard, so the corners of her eyes were suddenly wet. “But thank you…”

For half a beat, Hiruma could only stare back. He could count the number of occasions he’d seen tears hit her eyes on one hand—the big Eyeshield reveal, the time she lost that bet, the victory tears, that time in the alley, her grandmother's betrayal, if he didn't count the time when... well okay she could be a bit of a waterwork, but there had been exactly one time she had thanked him for a display of force before. His next impulse was anger, because somehow the situation had gotten to this point, the wet eyelashes point, before he had barely even caught on, let alone gotten a chance to take control of it. He grimaced, gnashing his teeth as he reached out to pull her against him, in some automatic response that he noticed had started happening when she let him see her cry—but it still felt like an out of body experience, and he was irritated at how inconsistent it was with his carefully cultivated image. What was he doing? What the fuck did it do, keeping her head tucked under his chin? That bastard was still out there. Getting away with whatever it was that got her like this and that made the ground under his feet seem uneven. Why wouldn't she just tell him and let him take care of it?

“Get a room, trash,” one of his most charming teammates grumbled as he pushed past them through the doorway.

“How about mophead instead?” Hiruma whispered in her ear with a smirk. The ammo was loaded, after all.

A little breath like a laugh burst against his collar. Only toward Agon did she show anything less than exemplary kindness, which Hiruma had decided was the closest thing to a wicked intention she was capable of and found absolutely addictive to behold. “Just try not to hospitalize our miracle player...” she added.

Hiruma fired a generous shower of bullets in the general direction of the tacky dreadlocks before Mamori had even finished her sentence. Agon dodged with his goddamn speedy impulses and ducked into the change room, and Hiruma cursed and unloaded another round at the open doorway. It didn't solve anything, but it cleared his head. Mamori tried not to laugh but as she picked up the broom and dustpan—to sweep up the spent bullet casings so none of the other pieces in their precious chess set would break their necks on their way to the change room—she was smiling, and that was good enough for the time being.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Working from his laptop while reclining in bed was among Hiruma’s favourite things, although he resented the fact his engineering program loaded up so much coursework that he could rarely afford to do his own recreational research that term. Having an American football team full of geniuses meant there wasn't much need to put together schemes to win championship tournaments—which, of course, in no way prevented him from cooking up plots anyway—but occasionally there were projects of a slightly more personal nature that called for his attention. For the moment, however, this bloody end-of-term assignment was due in the morning and he had only started it that afternoon. That had been the plan to begin with, so that he didn't waste any more time on it than absolutely necessary, but it was hard to quickly churn it out while his manager's mystery snagged at his mind.

Well, she had said she would take care of it, after all.

Still, he kept checking on her from the corner of his eye as she got ready for bed, looking for clues. Other than the requisite greetings, she hadn't spoken since she got back from her study group, but this was not out of the ordinary. Except for those bursts when they argued, they could go for long stretches without speaking. Just another thing that he liked about her. And since he had run out of gum hours ago she had no need to warn him not to stick it on the bed (and not to swallow it, either). No, her silence was not unusual and the pace of her movements seemed normal. Those were the pajamas that meant she wanted to be left alone, and while that was compatible with his plans to work, he couldn't tell if it was related to the earlier events. Mamori would read in bed if she wasn't too tired, but it was already late so it didn't necessarily mean anything that she laid back and closed her eyes straight away. Maybe she had already dealt with whatever it was since that bothersome display that afternoon. He turned back to his assignment. Another hour and it would be good enough, two if he wanted to show off. It was going faster since her breathing had become slow and even, not quite asleep but without anything irregular to pull at his attention.

A few weeks earlier it had been quite a different situation. She worked twice as effectively and was twice as encouraging to the dumbasses he called teammates, who had the balls to comment on how her smile was brighter than usual that day. Hiruma had noticed this too, of course, which was why he had given her a dozen tedious tasks that he would normally assign to the freshmen as punishment, but it barely seemed to register on her face. Instead her eyes continued to sparkle and she balanced her weight on her toes like she was dancing to a song.

“Are you planning to let me in on it?” he scowled after everyone else had left and they were heading home for the night.

Mamori acted dumb and then surprised, as if she was oblivious to how obvious she had been. But her eyes shone even brighter when she replied, “Oh! I got my paper back from my practicum course.”

Hiruma narrowed his eyes. She aced her papers consistently, and yeah, it made her happy but she never got like this. “And…?”

“And the professor suggested I should try to get it published!” She smiled that stupid gleaming smile, looking prettier than she had any right to be.

Hiruma stretched his gum over his tongue and formed a bubble. There was something in her expression that he couldn't look away from. She wasn't just starry-eyed or simply giddy about the news. She looked… hungry. Ambitious. She was staring ahead into the future, and claiming it as her own. It was beyond sexy.

“Of course it needs to be polished a bit more before it’s ready to send,” she continued, with no hint if she had noticed his own hungry stare, “but the professor offered to help me with the editing.”

“Keh, getting roped into free labour for those journals that are bankrupting our universities with their outrageous subscription fees, are you? Kehkehkeh!”

She shrugged. “Well, at least I’m not paying them. Do you have a better idea?” Rather than the beginning of an argument, it sounded like an honest question.

He only laughed more. “Yeah, you could work a bit harder at getting the team through the semifinals instead of slacking off, writing papers that nobody’s gonna read!”

“I won't slack!” she assured him defensively. “It would be nice if someone read it, but the point is, it would be recognized as being a certain level of scholarship, by experts in the field. My work!”

“Tch,” he flashed a cruel smirk, “they can't sell journals with fucking blank pages, can they?”

“Not only that,” she continued, brushing aside his jab, “but I may have position as an assistant on his new research project, the cognitive development one. That would be paid and I would be a co-author on the publications from the project, too. Really. No one else is doing this research. I can't believe I have an opportunity like this. It’s amazing. ”

Those ultra-focused eyes again. Hiruma forced himself to mentally recite the new playbook just to keep from devouring her right there in the middle of the street. Even though it was great news—any idiot knew she totally deserved it and would blow all those other idiot research assistants out of the water—he replied with a series of condescending remarks until she finally snapped back an angry response with a frown, and everything was back to normal. Still, Hiruma carefully tucked away the idea that she was chasing some selfish desire and savoured it whenever he caught her staring at anything a bit too intently.

That had been not so long ago. He had almost forgotten she was laying there under the covers beside him, immersed as he was for the time in puzzling out how to solve the problems on the assignment. It looked formulaic but the challenge was understanding the problem well enough to decide the right equation to use. Instead of mechanical and repetitive, although it was that too, he found it immersive—frustrating, but also a little bit fun. It was a surprise, then, when he felt something nudge under his elbow. It was in surprise, too, that he lifted his arm enough for her to burrow her face against his chest. He scowled. This had never happened before. She was not the kind of woman who snuggled (if that was the term for it) and he was not exactly the snugglable type of guy—just one more example of how compatible they were, really. This new development was a weird way of being with her but not the worst thing, even if it was the most blatant confirmation that something was terribly, terribly wrong. The sense of foreboding seeped into his bloodstream but the warmth of her through his shirt was nice. He rested his elbow on her head, applying just enough pressure so she wouldn't think he was into this sappy shit and kept working, waiting and wondering what she would do.

But she didn't say anything.

“You know,” he muttered as he wrapped up the last problem, still without any change from Mamori, “Not telling me what's going on might not have results that you’re hoping for…” She couldn't really expect that keeping him in the dark would actually stop him from taking matters into his own hands.

“I know…” was her muffled reply.

“Give me something, at least.”

She breathed a long breath against him, her face still buried. “Have you ever wanted something…”

He glanced down, remembering her hungry eyes, but they were hidden. She trailed off for a few moments, long enough that it seemed like she had given up on the question and so he pretended to take it literally. “Tch. I hope you know the answer to that.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Yeah. So, what about the rest?”

“The rest?”

“Of the question.”

“Oh…” This time the pause was a more reasonable length. “Was there ever someone who could give you that chance… or take it away…”

He didn't bother to answer. Someone withholding something from his manager? Was there a problem he was better suited to solve? Hiruma switched windows on his laptop and called up her course schedule, which he had not-so-secretly snapped a photo of the first day of term for future reference, looking for the class she had before practice that day. He copied the name of the professor—that must have been the one she had met with—into a new document and proceeded to collect other information. His office number. His home address. His gym membership. Etc. As he gathered data he asked, “What’re you gonna do?”

“There is nothing to do. Nothing happened.”

“Like hell nothing happened! You’re acting like you’re possessed! Or body-swapped or a shapeshifter posing as my manager or something!”

“Nothing happened—nothing that would hold up. Nothing I could prove.”

The dark feeling he had felt when she first curled against him sank a shade deeper and heavier in his veins. Something that had happened but couldn't be proved...

“Tch. So I’ll take care of it,” he said. “I’ve got all the proof I need.”

Unlike that afternoon, she didn't forbid him immediately. Instead she just stared at his shirt— this he could tell because he could actually feel her eyelashes through the fabric when she blinked, so he knew they were open and looking straight into nothingness. The pressure of her forehead against him, through his ribs and into his chest, felt solid. After another long pause, all she said was, “You shouldn't.”

He recognised the tone in her voice, dark and serious with a little waver to it, but where did he know it from? “Tch. Anyone who makes you sad can burn in hell.”

“I'm not sad.”

“Then what the fuck is your face doing in my shirt?”

“Does it bother you?” she asked. “I can leave you alone.”

He pressed a hand on her head to hold it there incase she tried to move away without permission. “Whatever, I can handle it,” he grumbled. “But what the hell, woman.You’d better not make me ask...”

“I'm angry,” she said.

Of course. That was the energy he couldn't place. It just wasn't directed at him, for once. He scanned his memory. Had she ever been angry with someone other than him before? It was actually hilarious, to think he had a rival in pissing the fucking manager off, except for one little detail. “Kehkehkeh!! The answer is the same. They can burn in hell.”

“It won't affect you,” she replied. “I won't let it interfere with my duties on the team.”

“Dammit, Mamori, I know that! —and it had better not or the entire school will burn. That's not the point!”

“Leave it.”

He ground his teeth. “How much time do you need? Before I take things into my own hands. A week? Two weeks?”

She paused ever so slightly, almost as if she was actually considering the offer. “I think this is a revenge I can never have.”

“Tch, never say never…”

“I wish you would listen to me!” she said, finally raising her head to face him with his favourite frown. “I said, don't do anything.”

“If that’s really what you want, then you’ll tell me something.”

“I don't want to talk about it,” she sighed.

“If you don't tell me, I'll bite your eyebrows!” he warned, leaning toward her with his teeth bared. Mamori hid her face against his chest again, but that did no good since all he had to do was turn on his side to flip her off. She used her hands to cover her forehead so he grabbed her wrists to pull them away, trying to nip at the spot between her eyebrows just above the bridge of her nose, right where the little crinkle appeared when she was pissed at him, but he knew from experience no matter what angle he tried either his chin or his nose would get in the way. And even though she should have known by then he couldn't actually bite her, she still fought him off like he was going to take a piece out of her, and that in itself made the effort worth it.

Finally he kissed her mouth instead.

“You should move in with me,” he said.

“I practically live here already,” she reminded him.

“Tch. Only on weeknights.” He tested his teeth down the length of her throat and along her collarbone—careful not to leave a mark lest she stage a labour strike as vengeance, as she had during the spring tournament the year before. That had very nearly been a disaster, and was a headache he was not interested in reliving.

“What would it change? I'd still go home on the weekends,” Mamori reasoned with him. “Even you do your laundry there.”

“Fucking details,” he muttered, tucking his face into the crook of her neck. It happened to fit perfectly there.

“Goodnight, Youichi.” There was a smile in her voice that was almost as good as a frown. 


	3. Chapter 3

Mamori was chatting quietly in the hallway with her classmates, waiting for the class scheduled before theirs to exit so they could take their seats inside. They had not been waiting long when she noticed the energy of the crowd around her change. A few people gasped, and their polite conversation dropped suddenly to scandalized whispers.

“Is it him?”

“Scary!”

“So it's true, then?”

“I've heard about him but I’ve never seen him in this department before...”

“What is he doing here?”

Curious, Mamori glanced in the direction the group was looking, although she had a nagging suspicion she knew what had gotten their attention. Sure enough, there was Hiruma, grinning his triangular grin with a nonsensically large, but very authentic-looking gun displayed on his shoulder. And he was walking straight toward her.

The crowd parted before him with a healthy margin. Mamori frowned and folded her arms across her chest. He had really gone too far, and he probably thought it was funny. “Hiruma-kun! What are you doing, bringing a gun here?! This is the Early Childhood Education department!”

“Good morning to you too, darling.”

That was not what she had expected. Her peers had already been alternating their stares back and forth between them, but the open term of endearment had caused a few of them to go slack-jawed. She could hear her own name whispered amid the din. Mamori frowned even harder. He was being such a troublemaker.

“What are you doing here?”

“You forgot your book,” he announced, “So I brought it to you, because I'm such a good boyfriend.”

Mamori couldn't understand why he would make up such nonsense. “Honestly! I did not forget—”

But before she could finish her sentence, Hiruma held up a book which she instantly recognized as the text from that very course. In disbelief, she peeked in her bag, but the textbook wasn't there. Which was impossible, because she absolutely knew she had packed it, she had double checked before she left. (Also, what was he doing, announcing he was her boyfriend like it was nobody's business? Not that it was a secret… in fact, she wouldn't be surprised if half the other students in her program already knew. But gossip was one thing, and this was something else completely.)

Hiruma was holding the book out casually, but slightly beyond her reach, as if taunting her. “I found it beside our bed, you probably didn't notice because you were so exhausted from last night…”

Color crept swiftly onto her face. “Hiruma!” she protested in a hissed whisper. She reached for the book but he yanked it up higher, safely out of reach. She was burning alive from embarrassment. “Hiruma, what do you think you are doing?”

“You know exactly what I am doing,” he replied in that tone he used when he had a wicked play in mind. His eyes flicked toward the classroom, where students were cautiously filing out. The professor had arrived and was waiting to enter with the rest of the class. Mamori felt a slight panic rise in her throat and quickly turned her attention back to her heavily-armed and infuriating significant other.

“You can't bring guns here!” she repeated, impatiently. “We work with children, Hiruma, actual real breathing human children. Get that gun— “

“M16.”

“I don't care what it is. Get it out of here, now.”

“Kiss me.”

“Hiruma, I'm not joking.” Mamori assumed she had misheard him. An aversion to public displays of affection was the one thing they usually agreed on.

“Kiss me and I'll go,” he said, dangling the book above her head like mistletoe.

“Hiruma! All these people are watching.”

“So try to not screw it up! Keh keh keh!”

“These are my colleagues and you are embarrassing me.”

“I'm sure they've seen two adults kiss before.”

“What do you want?”

“A kiss.”

She sighed and folded her arms. Every aspect of his performance dripped with scheming but she had no patience for it. Her classmates made as though they were readying themselves for class, but she knew they each had one eye (if not two) on their exchange through the doorway and likely a few of them were recording video of all this already. Even though he looked like he wasn't going to move, she refused to cooperate as a matter of principle.

“No. Just go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Look, I don't know what you're plotting...”

“Who says I'm plotting?”

She mustered up her deepest frown. “Go.”

He matched her glare with an intense stare of his own. It felt as though she was being scanned, like he was evaluating her resolve. Then he abruptly turned with a shrug. “Fine. Your loss. But you’d better not be late for practice, kehkehkeh!” As he began to walk away he lowered the textbook so it was finally within reach. She snatched it back in a swipe and stormed back to the classroom. Her face was furiously red.

Mamori sat through the lecture in a daze, struggling to focus on anything other than Hiruma’s conspicuous display. He was right. She knew exactly what he was doing. Her insides somersaulted between a cautious hope and a fear that dragged it down to the pit of her stomach no matter how high it rose in her chest. It wouldn’t work. How many hundreds of times had she told him not to do anything!? There had been a reason, but he spent zero consideration on that part of the equation, of course. Infuriating. He was such an infuriating man, who took too many risks. She tried to focus on her anger to ignore how afraid she was, but it wasn’t working. But she knew what she wanted, and she would not let Hiruma Youichi get in the way so easily.

Before she realized it, the period had ended and she was surrounded by the shuffle of her classmates packing up their books and chatting as they left. Two girls who had been in one of her group projects earlier in the term leaned over as they passed with conspiratorial whispers. “Anezaki-san, we thought you were just the manager of the amefuto team! You didn't tell us you were sleeping with them, too!”

“Them!?” Mamori felt her fingernails curl. Wildfire. She knew substantiated gossip grew out of proportion, but this had already mutated beyond her wildest predictions. “I am _not_..!”

The girls shared mischievous grins. “But _why not,_ after all?” they giggled into their hands before dashing off toward another friend near the door.

Her friend Kira leaned against the desk beside her. They had both served on student council and been in several classes together, not to mention a dozen study groups.

“Don't worry about them, they’re just jealous,” Kira smiled. “But I bet there will be more than a couple rumours about you this week.”

Mamori pressed her forehead against the top of the desk. “I hate him so much!!”

“Haha, liar,” Kira kicked at Mamori's leg playfully. “He’s so sweet. Gahd, if I found a guy who brought me my books I’d haul him straight to the chapel!!”

“Hiruma-kun is not sweet,” Mamori muttered. She knew the statement was correct but for some reason it sounded off. She frowned at herself.

“Ms. Anezaki, if you have a moment…” The professor was tucking his notes into his satchel. His tone was professional, but her pulse raced again. Kira didn't seem to notice, thankfully, busy instead straightening her stance to look more respectable in the professor's presence.

“Of course.” Mamori stood slowly, afraid that her knees might give out. She took a deep breath to gather her strength. No matter what, she had to face it.  

The professor slipped on his jacket, speaking to her across the desks as he approached. “Were you still wanting to meet about the draft?”

Mamori nodded. “I made the changes you suggested. If you wouldn’t mind taking a look at them...”

“That was fast,” he said with a tempered smile. “Those were some major revisions, I’m impressed.”

Mamori was too nervous to shake off the compliment or even feel pleased, but the professor did not seem concerned.

Kira beamed at her. “I was going to ask if you had plans after class but I guess that answers it! I can't wait to see it published!”

“Well, I don't even know if it will be accepted for review yet.”

“You can do it!” Kira flashed a victory sign with her fingers. “Your paper was better than most of the articles we’ve had to read. I'm sure with the revisions it's going to be amazing.”

Mamori blushed as Kira waved goodbye. She followed the professor to his office down the hall. As they walked Mamori realized she was still holding the textbook that Hiruma had brought her and self-consciously pushed it into her bag. The professor’s eyes followed the movement.

“Was that your boyfriend, before?” he asked, as if it were nothing, but she found she couldn’t reply. He seemed vaguely amused by her lack of response. “It didn’t look like you were on very good terms.”  

Mamori turned her attention to the floor to keep him from reading her expression. ‘Boyfriend’ was a strange word, one that applied to other people. People who took their girlfriends to movies and sent emoji-filled text messages (well Hiruma _did_ send emoji-filled text messages, but they could not be mistaken as charming). ‘Boyfriend’ also had an uncertainty to it, a finite temporal aspect. Hiruma was not exactly a boyfriend, they were not exactly dating, but at times it was convenient to speak of it in that way.

“Yes,” she replied carefully, “Hiruma is my boyfriend.”

The professor made a thoughtful sound, like a hum. “That gun certainly leaves an impression,” he said, unlocking the door to his office. He opened it, gesturing for her to enter, but he studied her face closely with a look of concern, “He isn't… violent, I hope? If you need help...”

Mamori entered, searching for an answer that would be truthful without getting into the details of how violent Hiruma was or was not. It required a deep breath. “He isn't violent to me.”

“I want you to know that I am here for you, if you need anything.” He held his eyes intently on hers, standing so near she felt she might suffocate. “There are resources available through the university services, they are strictly confidential.”

“Thank you for your concern.” Mamori wanted to scream, but instead dipped her head in the shadow of a bow and took a tiny step back in the act, putting a slight distance between them. The professor seemed to take in that movement intently.

“Is he the type to take issue with us working so… closely?”

He must have followed her movement simply by shifting his weight and retaking the space she had created. There was nothing obviously suggestive about the way he approached her. He was just an inch closer than what she thought was proper and it set the hair on her neck on end.

“If it’s a problem, we don't need to continue with this, Ms. Anezaki,” he continued. “I was very much looking forward to working with you. I had all the paperwork drafted. But I don't want to put you—or myself—at risk.”

Her heart skipped a beat as panic seized it. She struggled to draw on her anger to hide the desperation in her eyes. “I assure you, Hiruma will not be a problem!”

He contemplated her with that gentle, satisfied smile, which might have seemed smug if his eyes were less wisened. “I'm glad. It would be a shame to waste your potential.”

He leaned toward her, and she prepared herself for some unwanted embrace, but instead he pulled back the chair beside her and motioned for her to sit. “Shall we begin?”

Mamori inhaled deeply as she sank into the chair, not realizing she had been holding her breath that whole time. She pulled out the clearfile that held the new draft. “About my paper…”

“Article, Ms. Anezaki. If you want it to be an article, you have to start treating it as one,” he reminded her with his kind smile. “Let’s take a look.” He slipped the papers from the folder, brushing his fingers against hers as he took them, and began reading.

He casually paced the small area in the office between the desk and walls of shelves piled with books and dotted with the occasional plant. Mamori waited, sitting upright on the edge of the seat even though it was a deep, comfortable chair, and scanned her eyes over the room to distract herself. She was nervous in the way she normally was when someone reviewed her work, which was a relief compared to the fear that he was going to cut her out of the project. It was his decision to make, and he had made that much clear three weeks earlier when she had confronted him about the way he stood so close her. She had to make a choice, he had told her, about whether she wanted to be part of the research team. It would mean working with him. He had said this as he stood close enough to breathe in the scent of her hair. But he never touched her, never made advances, and never said anything that wasn't absolutely proper. He just stood too close and looked at her too intently. She had stormed out of his office, furious, knowing there was nothing to accuse him of and realizing that he was fully aware of it. She had to make a choice.

The professor reached across his desk to take a pen and made some note in the margin. Mamori’s eyes followed the motion and rested on a spider plant on the shelf behind him, its tendrils draping down like hair. She froze. It couldn't be…

“This is well done, Ms. Anezaki. Of course I wouldn't expect less. In this section, might I suggest... ”

The professor leaned over her shoulder, holding the draft in front of her as he explained the revisions, and Mamori directed her attention to the pages. But as they worked on the next round of changes she kept stealing suspicious glances at the plant.


	4. Chapter 4

The afternoon practice of the SaikyouDai Wizards had already started when Mamori arrived. She didn’t stop to change but instead marched directly onto the field. It was pass route work and Hiruma was paired with Akaba, who pushed back his helmet as he spotted her approaching, hooking his fingers through the grid of the face guard. 

“I sense a discordious symphony building,” he remarked.

Hiruma didn’t break from the pass he was already wound up into. “Fuckin’ Red Eyes, how’re you gonna catch with your hands full?” he snarled and let the ball go fast and high. Akaba shoved his helmet to the ground and bolted after the pass, not openly swearing but with a curse etched in his face. 

“Excuse me as I deprive you of your partner, Akaba-kun,” Mamori said once the pass was completed, as sincerely as she could through her anger. 

Hiruma only glanced over his shoulder, “You're late again, fuckin’ manager.”

“We will discuss that now, in private, please.” It was all she could do to not grab him by the back of the collar and drag him away. Instead of returning the ball to the quarterback, Akaba turned it around in his hands and gave Mamori a barely perceptible nod. 

Hiruma did not move from his position, but made a frustrated gesture toward the other player. “Unfortunately, someone has to keep this fuckin’ tight end from turning to a pile of rust before we face those damn shiny Knights.” Clearly he had already decided Shuei would lose. 

Mamori opened her tightly-balled fists and briefly stretched her fingers, grasping at the air before curling them closed again. “I’m afraid that will have to be someone else.” 

“Tch, we can't afford—”

“Now.” 

She didn't wait for his response, but instead walked off the field toward the club house. Hiruma looked expectantly at Akaba, who still held the ball and made no indication he would return it. 

“I can compose my own melody, never fear…”

“It had better sound like ladders, fuckin’ Red Eyes,” Hiruma replied. Then he turned in the direction Mamori had gone.

Inside the clubhouse, Mamori was fuming. Hiruma dropped his helmet on the bench and leaned against the wall. “So, did it work?”

“Work!” She refrained from slamming her hands on the flimsy folding table but instead pressed them flat against it with all her strength. “If you were trying to ruin everything, no, lucky for you it didn't quite work.”

“Kehkehkeh! Not ruin, more like  _ facilitate…  _ ”

“Hiruma!” she exclaimed. “How many times did I tell you not to do anything?” 

“Seven.” Hiruma bit off a stick of gum. “Seven times.”

“So what were you thinking?!”

“What did I do?”

“Half my department thinks I am sleeping with the entire team, to start with…”

Hiruma cackled long and hard at that, which did nothing to assuage her anger. “Kehkehkeh! Who knew discipline committee member Anezaki would turn such a leaf!” he laughed, wiping tears from his eyes.

“I do not appreciate your meddling!”

“Keh, is that what you called me here about? You should have thought about that before getting mixed up with me. I just returned your book. Fallout is unpredictable. Please tell me he was a little intimidated by the crazy guy with a gun in your life, at least.”

“I can deal with rumours but that ridiculous display nearly cost me my research position! And the cameras, Youichi? Really?”

“You said you would take care of it yourself.”

“That is exactly why we are having this conversation!”

“What the hell are you doing, then?” Hiruma leaned against the table, suddenly serious, facing off against her. “From where I'm standing, the only thing that’s changed in the last month is you’ve gotten a little better at hiding how pissed off you are.”

“Yes, I’m frustrated. I can't stand that he can take advantage of his position the way he does, but that’s just how it is. I'm sorry if that’s inconvenient. I'll try to be more cheerful around you.”

“For fuckssake, fuckin’ genius manager, that is  _ really  _ not the fucking point!”

“What is the point, then?” she shot back. “I know what I want, Youichi. I’m willing to put up with being a little unhappy to get to it. And I am not about to let you ruin this chance.”

He stared at her like a wolf on the hunt. A bubble grew in front of his face before it collapsed under his teeth. “Just how unhappy are you willing to be…?”

A shiver ran down her spine. “He’s just a bit creepy, that's all. It's fine.”

“And if something happened?”

“He’s too careful.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You don't know what the future might hold.”

“If anything happened, I would end it. But it won't.” She stared back at him with twice the resolve. “Believe me there is nothing I want more than to bring every clause in the book down on him. But I don't have anything. He knows exactly how to act to make sure any accusation against him just dissolves. I've repeated over it in my mind a thousand times, but it all just sounds like nonsense with no proof.”

Hiruma inflated another bubble of gum as she spoke. “Keh. That's good to hear. You almost had me worried...”

Mamori glared at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You can be oblivious about things.” he replied. “So, just to get your name on some publications, you’re willing to bet that he'll keep it to a game of creepy non-advances? It's only a gamble that it won't turn ugly.”

“I’m aware of that. I can handle it.”

“I know you can handle it. I don't like it, but it’s your choice and at the end of the day, you can take care of yourself. But what about the others?

“Others…” she repeated, blinking at him. 

“Do you think you're the first one?”

Mamori hesitated. “What are you saying?”

Hiruma leaned in. “He's in position. He has a strategy. You're calculating the risks, and he's doing the same. If you refuse, there’s plenty of other pretty girls with good grades to put in his crosshairs. Maybe not as pretty as you, but you get the picture.”

Mamori's eyes widened as he spoke, but she didn't reply. Hiruma pulled up his laptop and turned it open to a clunky website. 

“Recognize this?”

She studied the page with a curious frown. “That's the site for his research group.” 

“Yeah, check the date. The home page has had some recent changes, but the research team page hasn't been updated in five years.”

“Okay...?” she scoured the page to try to detect what he was seeing. “What am I looking at?”

“Every person on this page is listed as co-author on papers that came out of the project. Except one.” His finger came down on the bio of a cautiously smiling student. “Her.”

It was photo of an unassuming young woman who looked only a few years older than Mamori. The write-up noted she was a graduate student with experience in a related subfield at a one of the national universities. Not just an overachieving undergrad like Mamori.

“Other facts about this person. Straight A student, scholarships, awards, you name it. No record of her graduation, however— a little more digging shows she withdrew from the program only one year in and moved back to Aomori. Now, why would a promising student do something like that?”

“That could be…” Mamori stared at the photo, trying to imagine what that girl might be like, and what she might have wanted from life. “There could be many reasons for that.”

“Yeah. One of them is that you’re not the first to earn this bastard’s attention, and that it can get ugly. Right now it happens to be you, but you sure as hell won't be the last. Not everyone is as tough as you, fuckin’ manager.”

“What am I supposed to do about it? I don't have anything I can use against him, even now.”

“Exactly.”

“Youichi!”

“You said the problem was you didn't have proof. That is my answer to your original question, regarding what I am doing.”

“What are those cameras going to do? There is nothing to see, and even if there was, footage from hidden cameras wouldn't be allowed as evidence!”

“Kehkehkeh! I think I know how using video evidence works! But you’re right, there is another, better way...”

“What…..”

“Think about it.”

“I am not going to wear a camera!”

“We can't nail this guy without evidence.”

“We!?”

“Kehkehkeh,” Hiruma stretched his arms like his strength was going to waste. “I can't let my rival in pissing you off go unchallenged!”

“Hiruma, I told you not to do anything!!”

“Hey, I'm not doing anything… I just have some resources that you might want to put to use. Shit-tons of resources! Kehkehkeh!” 

Mamori stared at him, overwhelmed with a speechlessness only he seemed capable of inspiring in her, as Hiruma laughed nearly to the point of tears. She shook her head and sighed. “What am I supposed to do?”

“That's up to you.” Hiruma grinned with disastrous anticipation. “I’m in. Let's destroy him. Give me the signal.”

He was speaking to her some of her deepest desires. But she didn't know where to begin. “I'm not very good at scheming.”

“No. No, you are not.” That cruel, delighted grin. 

“Then what— ”

“That's not what we need. You just need to be you. Good and honest and outspoken and all that. He already can barely resist you. You tell him to step back and he only wants you more. If he cracks, then we'll strike.”

Mamori crossed her arms in front of her. “That’s called entrapment, Hiruma. I’m not going to do something like that!”

“...Or maybe he respects you and you get to do your little research project unharassed,” Hiruma shrugged. “Who knows. If not, we’ll be ready. Right?”

“Hiruma…” If she had something else to scold him about, it had been lost or forgotten. She hated giving in to him more than anything else.  “Get back to practice.”

He grinned and slipped out the door without a word.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Mamori had come to see the futility of being strong.

A week passed. Although during the previous month the attention of her professor had inspired flares of anger that simmered just underneath her calm expression and threatened to burn through, the feeling had changed. Each smile landed like a blade, leaving an open wound that ached.

_— But what about the others?_

After a few days she began to recognise the feeling. In fact, she knew it well: the helplessness of not being able to protect someone. Only this time, who that person might be was unknown.

Shuei had lost their last match. It came as little surprise considering the Silver Knights were still out of their league despite the med school’s latest recruits, but it was hard to watch Takaki’s last chance at the Rice Bowl slip away again. SaikyouDai would face off against the Knights on Sunday afternoon— but before that, Friday was a holiday, inspiring the customary two-day training camp for the Wizards, this time in Hakone.

Mamori was on campus just before dawn. She verified that the equipment and supplies had been loaded before handing her clipboard over to Nene, the sophomore who had been acting as assistant manager since the middle of the previous season. When the majority of the team had gathered at the busses, Mamori stood before them with a bow and assured them they would be in capable hands. Then she took her leave.

Hiruma watched her go without saying anything.

“...’the hell? This better not be a waste of time...” Agon was not a morning person, nor a patient person, and not one to be inconvenienced. Hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket, he sneered at Hiruma with icey huffs of breath. “You’re just gonna let her bail, trash? The only reason I even let you be captain is 'cuz I thought you could keep the help in line!”

Standing tall between the two rival teammates, Yamato flashed a charming smile at the poor girl who had been left in charge of dozens of adult boys. “Anezaki-san put together a good support team. I’m not worried.”

“ThankyouI’lldomybest!!” Nene managed to blurt out with a tiny nervous bow. Then she straightened with determination and raised her voice, calling out to the group: “Everyone, if you would be so kind, please begin boarding now! We are scheduled to depart at 7am sharp!”

Most of the team turned to file onto the buses, the more alert ones chatting in the cold morning air. Amid the shuffle, Hiruma made no motion to move.

Agon fired a last shot at Hiruma before boarding with a sneer and a chuckle. “Gotta keep women on a shorter leash, dumbass. Pretty ones anyway.”

He smoothly disappeared into the bus as if to dodge retaliation, but Hiruma made no indication he would reply. Instead he stared with narrow eyes at the campus gates where their manager had disappeared.

“I'm not worried about the camp,” Yamato lingered a moment longer. “But for Anezaki-san to skip training camp…” It was impossible to tell if the team captain was even listening. He shrugged and decided to finish his sentence anyway. “I hope she’s okay."

As the buses left the main city and ploughed along the toll highway, Anezaki Mamori stepped onto the northbound shinkansen. But by Sunday afternoon she was back, and had already reviewed the data from the camp in time for the strategy meeting before the game.

It was as if she had never been gone.

Hiruma was in a bad mood. Communication was a bit overrated when your hobby was collecting data. He knew where she had been, and could guess what she had been up to. It wasn’t about knowing or not knowing. It wasn’t about her not being there for the camp, either— the lower classmen(/women) could handle a low-stakes job like that, and they’d be on their own soon enough anyway. There had been no major disasters, just that little extra stress from trying to watch everything to make sure shit wasn’t about to hit the fan at any moment. But stress was one thing and actually dealing with problems was another. The camp had been fine. But the disgruntled feeling grated against him, from first down to failed pass, time-out to touchdown.

They were holding on anyway, edging ahead of geniuses like Shin Sejuuro and the remaining members of the Golden Generation. Well, genius vs genius, who would win? The one with the most ruthless control tower. And he felt ruthless. They would move on to the next stage, and face whoever would face them at the Rice Bowl (but it had better not be just _anyone_ , after all this trouble), just like last year. One last time. 

But still… she could have told him.

After they had defeated OujoDai, after the press conference and the customary celebration dinner, after everyone had gone home, he could finally face her alone. It was a weeknight; that meant she would stay over and there would be no shortage of opportunities to take up the issue. Private audience. But despite all his brooding he couldn’t think of what he was going to say, even after all those hours— after two entire days.

So when they were finally alone, he couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth. Instead, they walked in silence the entire way home and when they got inside he went straight to the bathroom to wash up for bed without speaking. As if nothing was wrong.

When he came out, Mamori was standing patiently by the bedroom doorway. She was waiting for him to look at her, and he refused. The fact that there _was_ a bedroom— that is, the fact he had departed from his minimalist approach to housing in high school by arranging for ('renting’ wouldn't be completely accurate) an actual apartment was evidence of how serious he was about their relationship, although it was never discussed in such terms. He insisted she move in fairly regularly, of course, but he had upgraded long before he ever asked specifically to head off those simple excuses he knew she would make: “ooh but I need a kitchen with running water” and annoying details like that. She knew. She never said it but she must know why he did it. A smart woman like her, why the fuck should he have to tell her? Smart and oblivious. He ground his teeth.

Mamori watched from the doorway as Hiruma plugged in his phone and then pulled off his sweater, discarding it on the floor practically on the other side of the room. He hadn't spoken to her since she had left, except through sign language during the game, and then only out of business-like necessity. Meanwhile he had snapped at the rest of the team, even after they had won. She had known he would be angry with her for skipping the training camp, of course. There was a hierarchy of things that mattered, and he was famously irate when this order was not respected. All she could do was wait: if he was upset, nothing would be resolved until they had one of their arguments, and, given the choice, she would rather it take place in private.

But as she stood waiting for him to look at her she realized that not acknowledging her had become a contest. She might be competitive, but she could recognise a fight she couldn’t win.

“I’m sorry,” Mamori said to the back of his head. “I should have told you.”

“But you didn’t,” Hiruma noted, focused on pulling off his socks.

“You would have stopped me.”

“Tch,” he scowled. “You don’t know that.”

“When have you ever let your workforce slack?” Mamori replied.

Hiruma narrowed his eyes. “Don’t say shit like that.”

“Hiruma, I don’t know anyone who has a better understanding of how you operate based on direct observation than I do,” she reminded him. “There are plenty of witnesses, so please don’t act like I’m making this up.”

Hiruma still kept looking carefully away from her. “This isn’t about a workforce, it’s about you.”

“Is there a difference? I skipped the entire training camp. I’m fully aware how much work that is, and don’t start pretending like it isn’t.”

“This isn’t about that!”

“Then what is it about?” Mamori asked, looking for an explanation.

Hiruma ground his teeth but didn’t say anything.

After a moment Mamori took a breath. “I went to Aomori,” she told him.

“Yeah, to meet that other woman,” he grumbled, still without looking at her. “Right?”

“Yes.” Mamori didn’t bat an eyelash. She had long given up being surprised at the things he knew. Anyway, it explained some things. “Is that why you didn’t say anything when I told everyone I was leaving? I expected an argument, at least.”

“Tch.” Hiruma looked distracted. “What if I knew someone, you know? I could get you train fare, for sure– green car shinkansen tickets, on the house. Some hotel keepers in Hirosaki probably owe someone who owes me something. You know. Stuff like that.”

“Oh...” Her expression softened. She moved to the bed and sat down on the edge, still a few feet away from him. “I should have thought of that.”

“If you had told me,” he said, glaring. He was looking at her, finally. “You could have just told me.”

“I forgot about this side of you,” Mamori smiled. “It was football business, you know. I was too worried about the football commander from hell: destroy our enemies or die.”

“Tch. Understandable, I guess.” Hiruma pulled his shirt over his head, obscuring the scowl that was possibly hiding a blush. “Don't forget next time.”

Mamori nodded. “I'll remember.”

He looked at her a moment, his eyes cleared of the cloud that had hung over him since she had left. That little smile was too soft, too reserved. Like she had something else on her mind. Hiruma recalled that this was not entirely about her not telling him. “So? Did you solve the mystery? Was it bad? Or a false alarm?”

Mamori took a moment before replying. When she did her voice was quiet.

“It was bad.”

Hiruma couldn't move. He would much rather she were arguing with him. “Shit…” he muttered. “Are we going to mess this guy up or what?”

Mamori was looking ahead, a little blankly, but she didn't seem on the verge of tears. She looked strangely composed. “About that…”

“An ethical framework is available, if you need one.” Hiruma noted. “There’s this thing called karma, maybe you’ve heard of it?”

“I have been thinking about this for a while now,” Mamori replied. “About what I want. What I wish for...”

“Name it.”

She looked him in the eyes. There was no hesitation. “I want accountability. I want policy. I want some kind of support service for anyone who has to use that has to make use of this policy for justice. I don't want anyone to face this alone.”

“Tch. That's…”

“Not glamorous, I know.”

“I can assure you, hellfire is going to be more painful.” Hiruma pointed out. “Maybe more satisfying. Definitely more immediate.”

“Maybe,” she agreed. “But I'm lucky. What about people who don't have someone like you supporting them?”

“That's the whole idea! When I'm done with him, he’ll think twice about doing something like this again!”

“That’s assuming people change,” Mamori replied. “But even so, what about others like him? There are maybe some who aren't even professors yet, but will be someday, after we've graduated. What then?”

“Tch… policy…!?” Hiruma frowned so hard his eyes crossed. “You don't even have a year left. You think you can change something like that in just a couple months?”

Mamori turned to face him squarely. “Yes. If there is pressure on the governing council, for example, to adopt it…”

A mischievous smile graced Hiruma's face. “Oh really… that would be convenient, wouldn't it! Kehkehkeh!!”

“Also… maybe we can use this case… my case… to push it,” she suggested. “If it could help.”

“What about the Aomori woman? You said it was bad.”

Mamori shook her head. “She doesn't want to get involved.”

“She ran away.”

“Yes.”

Mamori’s composed expression hadn’t changed. Hiruma frowned. “Aren't you pissed?”

Once again she didn't reply right away. She had only been away for two days, but he sensed she was still turning over the events of the weekend in her mind. So, it was complicated. But from the look of things he doubted she was about to tell him anything.

“I could never feel that way about this,” Mamori replied finally. She looked back at him, determined: “Let's do our best.”

“Keh,” Hiruma recovered his smirk. “You really want to take this guy out after all, huh…”

“My revenge will be hers,” Mamori said. “So we need evidence. Whatever you think, cameras, anything. I'll do it.”

Without missing a beat, Hiruma moved to the closet with a wild grin. He hauled out two large cardboard boxes and dropped them on the bed. Mamori peered at the chaotic piles of various electronic components that filled them. Barefoot and topless, Hiruma was already pulling pieces from the mess. The fact that this was all taking place on the bed was a bit troubling.

“Youichi…” she began.

“If you thank me too soon I might lose my motivation…” he grinned.

“You don’t have to do this right now,” Mamori told him. “But if you are going to start tonight, maybe it should happen on the table?”

“You can’t beat all this surface area! Kehkehkeh!”

Mamori sighed. She appreciated his enthusiasm, but she also had plans to sleep that night. She picked up one of the boxes and moved it to the other room, then returned for the second. Hiruma had already covered a corner of the bedspread with wires, circuit boards and lenses, but at that particular moment he was going through her jewelry. She raised an eyebrow but took the opportunity to relocate the last of the electronics.

“Is this precious to you?” he held up a pendant, dangling on a dainty chain. Mamori struggled to imagine what he was envisioning, but shook her head. She couldn’t even remember where she had gotten it. Probably in America. Maybe from one of her cousins...?

“I’m going to bed,” she informed him, but instinctively hesitated. Before turning away she added for good measure: “The fire extinguisher is beside the fridge.”

Hiruma was already in the other room, chuckling to himself as he sat bent over the disaster on the low table, some kind of magnifying contraption attached to his head. He waved a hand, which she interpreted to mean he thought she was nuts to worry. But this was Hiruma. Reliable as well as a reliable cause of worry. Mamori looked on from the doorway, took another deep breath to calm herself, then smiled. “Don’t stay up too late… ”

“Keh! Don’t count on that!”

He was enthusiastic in situations that would seem strange to most people. She knew this. At least she clearly wasn’t twisting his arm. She failed to suppress a full-on grin. “You are such a weirdo.”

“Kehkehkeh!!” he cackled without looking up. “I love you, too.”

It was a little sarcastic but it made her heart skip. Neither of them used words like that often, which she always thought of as one of the little ways they were compatible, despite all their differences. But he sometimes let his carefully-guarded self show, when he was having fun. Her eyelashes blinked wet.

“Hey.”

He had caught her as she wiped the edge of her hand against her cheek— but he may have gotten the wrong impression about its cause.  

“We’re gonna win this,” he said, serious for once. “We’re gonna fight, and we’re gonna win, and you are going to be stuck with so much policy you won’t know what to do with it all. And this guy is never gonna do whatever he did ever again. Got it?”

Mamori cracked a tiny smile and dipped in a tiny nod of agreement.

“Let’s destroy him.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

Mamori’s paper had been accepted by the first journal she had submitted it to. It had a high impact factor and a strong reputation.

“Well, Ms. Anezaki, that is fantastic news,” her professor smiled at her, that tiny wounding smile that always seem like he was holding back. “We have to celebrate.”

They were in the research lab. It was actually just a room of computers with an adjoining playroom where they sometimes had children do games designed to test their cognitive development. Mamori had just conducted her first interview on her own, with a mother of one of the children in the study. Her professor had monitored it from the other room to ensure everything was done properly, but there was no need to intervene. She had skillfully applied all that she had learned from her training and the interview had gone smoothly. 

After they had said goodbye to the participants, however, Mamori found herself alone with the professor again. She had told him the news in a half-hearted hope that it would make sharing the room with him easier as she filed the papers and recordings before she could leave. Still, she couldn't feel at ease.

“It was only accepted. There is still the peer review. It won’t actually be published for another year at least.”

“Or, more likely, two, at the rate most reviewers go,” he corrected her. “All the more reason to celebrate now. We’ll do it again when it’s released, and by then it will feel like the first time.”

In truth, Mamori wanted to celebrate. This news meant more than it might have under other circumstances. Over the past two months, Mamori had come to doubt whether any of the things that she had been so proud of were based on her abilities: being encouraged to publish, joining the research group. She couldn’t be sure. It could all very well be just an excuse for the professor to work with her on drafts or in the lab, not because she showed any particular promise at all. It could be just because she was pretty. 

But the editor of this prestigious journal had never seen her. The editor had chosen her work because he thought it was good enough to potentially publish, if the anonymous reviewers agreed. It was a relief. It restored the confidence she had lost. Mamori had been bursting to celebrate ever since she had gotten the news. 

But instead she said: “I don’t want to make a fuss. It's not even reviewed yet, it's not a big deal.”

After her trip to Aomori, she was afraid to be alone with him. No matter how much she wanted to celebrate. No matter how useful evidence would be. The research project was the reason she was enduring him in the first place, and most of the time there were others around the lab. The idea of meeting him off campus, alone, made her feel a bit ill. 

“It’s a major journal. You’re an early scholar. It’s a big deal.” He tapped the top of his desk then pulled out a small booklet from the drawer. “Nothing big, let me just get you a drink. I know a nice place. You’ll like it.”

“I…” She was not very good at lying, so making excuses did not come easily. “I’m very busy. The Rice Bowl is soon.” 

As usual, the Rice Bowl would be held a few days after New Year’s Day. More than a week away, but less than two. It would be the last chance at the Rice Bowl for the players of her cohort: so many attempts, but never the prize. It would mean even more, of course, if the Takekura Babels finally made it through the finals. More than ever, the team lived only for football. But as the manager, there was only so much she could do. 

“Take a break,” the professor told her. “Friday night. Do football teams really practice on Friday nights?”

“Sometimes there are games on Friday nights.” 

“But not this week.” He seemed confident. 

“No…” Mamori replied slowly. “But it’s the last long weekend before the new year, so we have an important training camp. I can’t miss it.” 

He didn’t give up. “Even the most incredible and dedicated football players must need to eat and sleep. Will they miss you for an hour or two?”

Mamori said nothing. It felt like a trap and it felt like she was losing. She held her head up slightly higher. _We are going to win,_ she warned him silently. 

Her professor pulled a card from the booklet and passed it to her. “So it’s settled. Meet me here, around seven. This place doesn’t get a line until later, but I’ll make a reservation just in case.”

“But it’s the Christmas weekend,” she reminded him. The couples’ holiday. “What if they’re booked already?”  

“Never fear,” he smiled again. “I know people. There won’t be a problem. Did I mention they have an excellent dessert menu?”

Mamori looked at the card. It had an English name and was located in an up-and-coming nightlife district-- fashionable but not as heavily-frequented as the more established areas, with an even more exclusive cache. 

“I can invite the rest of the research group, if you like,” he suggested after watching her reluctant gaze for a moment. “It can double as an end-of-year party, if you are shy about being in the spotlight.”

Mamori looked up at him, hardly believing his words. She hadn’t expected such an offer. He smiled back, but she didn’t feel the shiver she normally did. The tension in her body eased slightly. “That would be nice.”

“Wonderful,” he smiled. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

Mamori bowed and took her leave. A lab party would be a good chance to get to know her colleagues better. Maybe she could win their trust, or gain a little support. It was all she could hope for, although part of her was doubtful. As she left the lab, a single conversation replayed in her memory. 

_— That girl? She took advantage of the Professor's attention._

Before her trip to Aomori, Mamori had asked one of the research assistants who had been part of the group longest about the grad student who had disappeared. 

_— But at least she was grateful for being favoured. Unlike you, Anezaki-san._

Mamori felt her body turn to stone. She could only stare back in stunned silence as the other woman reviewed a transcription on the computer. 

 _—_ _Professor is always going out of his way for you,_ her colleague continued. _Helping you publish. Getting you on the research team. You're just an undergraduate student, and he's always doing things like that for you. But you act like you don’t care. You never even smile. Talk about ungrateful._

This doctoral student had been working in the research lab for years— Mamori had thought that if anyone would understand what kind of person the professor was, it would have been her. It was enraging and chilling all at once. 

After that, Mamori understood that if she wanted to be believed, she was going to need evidence. 

She still didn’t have any-- all those secret cameras, but nothing to show for it-- and in a sense she was glad that there wasn’t anything to see. But it didn’t change the fact that every moment she shared with this man made her feel disrespected and a bit dirty. And powerless. It was against the latter that Mamori threw all her rage from the first two. She plunged into developing a policy proposal, delegating as many of her Wizards duties that she could manage and dedicating every moment between the team and her studies to researching alternate models, reviewing example cases, analysing the existing policy and drafting her modifications.

Because if evidence was going to be of any use, she was going to need tools...

 

~*~

 

“SaikyouDai already has a sexual harassment policy, isn’t this a little redundant?”

The meeting of the Saikyou University Student Union had finally progressed to the agenda item proposing changes to the sexual harassment policy and the creation of a sexual harassment support centre. 

Anezaki, the representative for the Early Childhood Education department and the one who had submitted the proposal, responded. “As written, the current policy only addresses physical assault or explicit verbal harassment with witnesses. However, the majority of harassment and assault takes place in private. The proposed modifications will hold university staff and students accountable for harassment and abuses of power which do not meet the narrow definition of the existing policy.” 

The reception was worse than Mamori had expected. The other student representatives acted as if she were trying to create problems rather than address them. 

_—  Under this policy, won’t students be able to blackmail their professors for better grades, by threatening to file a complaint?_

_— This university only hires respectable professors, anyway._

_— There hasn't been any cases under the current policy in the five years since it was passed. It looks like there isn’t a problem._

Mamori felt as if she were caught in quicksand. None of her arguments had traction. Meanwhile other department reps whispered among themselves, stealing scandalized glances at her. She didn’t want to think what they might have been saying. 

Despite all this, when the proposal was called to question, it miraculously passed— only by a hair-thin margin, but it didn't matter. It would be presented to the governing council. Mamori felt a deep breath that she had been holding inside finally ease from her lungs. For everyone who had voiced their doubts during the deliberation, there had been some who had said nothing until the vote. That was all she needed. Luck was on her side.

Still, there were whispers. 

“Um, Anezaki-san...” 

As the others filed out of the room, the rep for Literature lingered beside her. One of the votes in favour. Mamori stood to face her, inclining in a bow of gratitude. 

“Thank yo _—_ ” she began, but the other woman interrupted.

“Listen, is it true...? That Akaba-kun… doesn’t… have a girlfriend?”

She was clearly trying to look disinterested but was not entirely convincing. 

“Akaba-kun...?” Mamori wondered aloud, puzzled at the question. She was not nosy about the personal lives of the team members, but when it came to dating, it only took a few appearances after a game or practice to figure out who was an item with whom. “I don’t think I have ever seen him with a girl…”

The Literature rep eyed her skeptically. “Including yourself?” 

Mamori blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Please. It’s common knowledge that you have your pick of the football team.” 

“That—” there was no reaction that could properly convey her disgust, dismay and despair, “—is an unfounded and hysterical rumour,” Mamori replied. 

“So Akaba-kun is single?” The other woman was finally displaying some optimism. “I can’t believe it. I was sure he was lying. So, Anezaki-san, you’ll invite me to your next outing, right? And introduce me? He said you would.”

None of it made any sense. “Akaba-kun said that?” 

“No, dummy!” The girl rolled her eyes. “Your weirdo boyfriend.”

“Ah,” Mamori replied. Of course. There was no such thing as luck.

She would have to thank him later.   
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay... these last few chapters have been very hard to write. Even now, I feel like the pacing is a little strange! But I hope it conveys the spirit at least ! 
> 
> Also hopefully the next few chapters will be released more quickly than the last ones :) *fingers crossed*


	7. Chapter 7

Friday, December 23rd, 7:15pm. 

Mamori had been standing near the entrance to the resto-bar for nearly half an hour, watching a parade of fashionably cool young people enter in couples and the occasional small group. She had been a little bit early, so truthfully the others were only about fifteen minutes late. Each time the door opened, the smooth beats of some impossibly hip instrumental mix escaped into the late December night. Mamori was convinced she was in the wrong place, but comparing the card she had been given to the subtle sign suggested otherwise. 

“Ms. Anezaki, you waited outside!” Her professor approached in quick, long strides, as if he had been rushing. His breathing was highlighted by clouds of frost. “You must be freezing. Let’s go in.”

It was cold. Still, Mamori pulled back from his hand at her elbow as he guided her to the entrance. “The others aren’t here yet.” 

“They’ll know to look inside,” he replied, pulling open the door. “Ladies first.”

The interior was dimly lit, but of impeccable design. Modern furniture, antique mirrors, a slightly orange glow from the dim filament bulbs and the votive candles on the tables. All the customers were young with styles that were distinct and funky but undeniably fashionable. The staff simply wore black, but their eccentric hair and accessories made them sometimes difficult to distinguish from their clients. 

Mamori felt plain by comparison. Her new sweater was a sweet peach angora with only a slight texture in the knit along the cuffs while her full skirt— which reached well past her knees— was a style popular enough but couldn’t be called daring. Her most unique item was a pendant necklace hanging from a collar made of woven cords: a new, high-tech addition to her wardrobe, although it didn’t look it. 

A waitress with multi-coloured braids spilling from a high ponytail greeted the professor by name at the entrance and immediately led them to a secluded table, high enough to stand at but nonetheless furnished with two bar stools upholstered in plum velour.

“I'm very sorry, but we’ll need a larger table,” Mamori informed her. There were seven members of the research group in total, including herself and the professor.

“This is fine,” the professor said, taking the menus from the waitress and passing one to Mamori as he settled onto one of the stools. “We can pull up some more chairs if we need to.” 

“If…?” Mamori looked at him carefully. “Are you saying you aren’t expecting anyone else to come?”

“Most of the others had plans. It’s Christmas weekend, afterall,” he shrugged. “It’s too bad. I know you were looking forward to celebrating with everyone.”

Mamori stared at the menu without really seeing it. She had been so busy with the training camp she didn’t have a chance to stop by the lab, but she could have at least sent a message to the others. Was she stupid? The room seemed to dissolve around her as she thought of all the ways she might have avoided this trap. 

“What will you have? It’s on me, of course.”

The professor’s voice seemed distant, but too close. Mamori forced herself to keep her breathing slow, but doing so took all her concentration.

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to order oolong at a place like this! Besides, it’s bad luck to toast something like this with tea,” he joked. “That’s been proven through science!” 

It was a name on the menu that shook Mamori from her daze. A small winery in the Napa valley. She had never seen it in any of the shops in Tokyo where she usually bought wine for those nights when her mother made her handmade pasta, and the restaurants she normally frequented didn’t have wine menus at all. But for some reason this strange, hip bar carried the first wine she had ever tasted, one that she had never seen since. 

So it was that she toasted her article being accepted with a fine stem glass filled with liquid garnet. December in Tokyo melted away as the first sip brought her back to her grandparents patio looking over San Francisco Bay at sunset, bathed in warm golden light.

It had been the summer vacation of her last year of junior high. A friend of the family had given her grandparents a bottle as a gift. Her grandfather had insisted that she was part of the family, and that anyway he had his first drink long before  _ he _ was fourteen, so a glass was pressed into her hand. It was perfectly balanced, although she would not realize how rare that was until her next experience with wine, this one sour, followed by one that was overly sweet. A perfect wine was a rare thing.

“You’re right, it’s very nice. Good choice.”

The professor’s voice returned her to the moment abruptly. Any other sound would have been more welcome. 

“I promised you’d like this place, remember,” he continued with a reserved smile. “It’s nice to see you looking happy, for once. Not quite a smile, no, but your eyes have a little sparkle. It’s lovely.”

Mamori looked away. She didn’t want to give the wrong impression.  

He took it for a moment to wax nostalgic. “You used to smile, you know, before. We would discuss the texts, and your practicum paper. When I suggested you publish, it was like the room filled with sunshine. It’s the little things, like that, that make being a professor rewarding. When knowledge can change someone’s outlook on things, to see the world in a new way. See new possibilities. Uncover a passion for something. There is no equivalent. No amount of money could replace it.”

He was speaking like a real professor might, a steward of scholarship, one who inspired students with the mysteries of higher learning. His class had been captivating, as his passion for developmental psychology made the topic endlessly fascinating. This was probably why he was well-loved in the department: young for a professor, a successful researcher in a specialized field, and enthusiastic about sharing his knowledge with anyone interested in learning. The perfect teacher. 

_ — I admired him. _

Those were the first words Mamori heard in Aomori. They resonated with an unidentified pain that had been dwelling in her and finally conjured its name: betrayal. 

_—_ _It was my fault_ , the woman had said, like a confession. _I thought he was incredible. I read everything he had written before I had ever met him. Then, in person, he was so supportive; the kind of teacher whose passion was inspiring and filled everyone with energy. I would have done anything to please him. So when he was kind to me, gave me his attention... it was like a dream. A terrible dream, because I knew it was not the kind of relation that a professor and a student should have. But all my ‘no’s were reluctant, and he never accepted them. And I couldn’t bear to lose his favour. So, you see...  it was my fault._

The professor contemplated Mamori and took a sip of wine. He seemed to be considering his words, and it was only after a few long moments that he spoke again. 

“Lately, you have been so cold. I can’t help but think I am at fault.”

Mamori broke from her memory, startled. She had never expected he would confess. Could it be that he had asked her there alone so he could apologize?

“I know it is a lot of pressure, for an undergraduate to be put in a research position, with graduation coming up and with all your extracurricular activities— some might think it was a mistake, adding you to the research group. I believed you would overcome these challenges... in my heart I believed you were capable of anything. I wanted to push you to achieve your full potential. But perhaps this was my error...” He cast a forlorn gaze across the room, tracing the edge of his glass absently. 

He was blaming himself  _ for the wrong things! _ But below her frustration, Mamori felt a familiar panic. 

“No, it’s fine— it’s not too much pressure. I can do it...” She hated sounding desperate, so she curbed her voice to avoid the exclamation points that may have formed naturally at the end of each phrase. 

“That’s good. I’m glad I wasn’t wrong about you,” he said, turning toward her with a melancholy smile. “But you have to be kinder to me, Ms. Anezaki.”

It was impossible to think that her wine was still in her glass rather than covering his face in a dramatic splash. Mamori moved her hand away from the stem in case her impulses got the better of her. It took every fibre of her strength to remain composed, but she looked back at him with a cool, defiant expression. 

“I’m a sensitive man,” he confessed. “We are working together as professionals, and it is a pleasure to work with you. But if you are cruel to me, I don’t think I could bear it.”  

A threat. Of course. 

_ We will win,  _ she swore wordlessly.

“It’s hard for me, you know. Getting to know you, knowing how special you really are… it’s hard to ignore that. Even knowing, now, that you have someone… well, not that it’s surprising. The quarterback of a champion team, no less.”

“Only one of the quarterbacks.” Mamori felt compelled to specify. “We have four. I am only seeing one of them.”

The professor chuckled. “Oh, are you trying to clear your name of that rumour? Of course, I never believed it. If it were true, it would be truly impossible for me to bear your coldness.”

Mamori brought her cup to her lips and tried to project her disinterest in his feelings by looking anywhere but toward him. It was a beautiful wine.  _ We will win. _

“I admit, I was surprised to learn about your interest in American football. And you as a manager? Well, it spoke to your capacity; obviously it gave me confidence in your abilities in the lab.” His mood seemed to have improved. “American football is interesting, isn’t it? Highly intelligent, which suits you. And also, very… physical…”

He was only looking at her through the corner of his eye, the profile of his face cut across with the shadow of a smug grin, but it was too much. Mamori took another sip of wine and tried not to let the shiver she felt through her body show. When she did not reply he moved on to other business. 

“I understand the American football season will end after this important game you mentioned. The timing is good. I am expecting the number of participants to increase in the new year, so we will all have to put in more hours to keep up. I hope I can count on you. You’ve mastered the data collection components, and that will be the most important for the next few months. But I would rather train you on analysis. This is crucial for building the next publication, and none of the others have shown the promise that you did in your  _ forthcoming  _ article.” 

“In a few months I will graduate,” Mamori reminded him. It seemed like he had her future planned out.  

“That is why you are applying for graduate studies, of course,” he gestured with his glass to suggest this was obvious.

Mamori didn’t reply. Her professor looked at her in disbelief. 

“Aside from your grades, you’re publishing in noteworthy journals. You’re getting research experience in a reputable lab. You have a head start on the majority of applicants— you’re ahead of even most students in master’s programs already! Don’t you want to continue your studies?”

She took another sip of wine for strength and carefully placed the glass on the table between them. “I want to continue,” she began. “But not…” 

He studied her face as she trailed off. “But not…?”

To be truthful, until a few months prior she had never dreamed of graduate school. It was only through working on her article and with the research group that she came to realize that graduate studies was a place where she would create knowledge instead of just memorizing what she was being taught. Something that required discipline, dedication and problem solving skills; all areas where she excelled. It seemed like a perfect fit, like a place that was meant for her but had been hiding. Now that she knew…  

“Is it the money?” The professor guessed. “There is funding.”

Mamori shook her head. She couldn’t let him think she wanted the same things he thought she did. But she didn’t want to lie. 

“I’d like to teach,” she said finally. “That’s why I’m in this department, to become a kindergarten teacher.”

“Developmental psychology is crucial to teaching!” he replied eagerly, leaning forward. This was the sincere version of him, gripped by his passion for his research— the person who had inspired her to put so much energy into her studies.“Through your graduate research, you will learn how children learn, and equipped with these insights you will become the most incredible of early childhood educators!”

He was right. This was much of the reason she wanted to be part of the research group in the first place. But the last thing she wanted was to tell him what he wanted to hear. “I know, but…” 

Before she could reply, the professor suddenly grabbed her hand. Immediately she pulled it away, startled at the intrusion, but he was staring intently past her. 

“Isn’t that…! No, don’t look!” he warned in a whisper. “Okay, just turn slowly— isn’t that man a famous actor? From that movie they’ve been advertising lately? Oh, what’s his name…?”

Mamori tried to catch a glimpse without looking obvious. A group was being shown to their table at the other end, but none of the men looked familiar. 

“The one on the left. Am I wrong?”

Mamori frowned. “I… I’m not sure. I really can’t tell. I’m not good with celebrities.”

The professor sighed and looked a little embarrassed. “Famous people come here sometimes. I’ve never seen any, but the staff tell me about it. It makes me see things, I guess.”

This strange confession was a little endearing. Mamori took her glass again to cover her mouth, in case she actually broke a smile. Although, what would it hurt, if she smiled around him once in a while? She had a right to smile if she wanted. 

“About grad school applications—” he returned to the subject, somewhat chastened. “I certainly don’t want you to feel pressured. It’s a big decision. But if that is what you decide, I would be more than happy to write you glowing reference letters. And I won’t be hurt if you decide to go to some other, higher-ranking university somewhere. You could get into any school you wanted. I truly believe that.” 

Mamori caught herself blushing. As she tried to use her glass to shield her face, she drained the remaining wine. It had lost its sweet, nostalgic taste. She started to wonder if it was the alcohol making her blush, even though she had only had one glass. 

“Your drink is empty,” he observed. “Would you like another?”

“No, thank you.”  Mamori tried to focus on the flame in the votive candle in the centre of the table. It seemed to blur, no matter how hard she stared. 

“Something to eat, perhaps? They have an excellent dessert menu.”

She shook her head. “I think I should go.”

“I’ll get the bill.”


	8. Chapter 8

The camera was installed in what looked like a necklace. It provided a view that was slightly lower than what Mamori would be seeing, which was good enough. She would hate it if she knew, but the microphone just barely picked up her breathing and the faintest echo of her heartbeat, which made watching the video as it streamed onto Hiruma’s laptop a strangely intimate experience. He could tell, for example, that she was trying to stay calm: she was doing a fairly good job breathing normally, but her pulse was much too fast. 

What Hiruma couldn't see was her face. What was her expression, how was she reacting… he liked to think he knew her well enough that he could guess, but that wouldn’t mean much without an image to verify. Particularly in situations like this. 

Instead he was obligated to look at a person he had quickly come to loathe. Understanding that some professor was making the life of his dear manager miserable — that was one thing. It was much easier to focus on strategy that way. And on tactics. But hearing the things this particular person said, seeing the way he looked at her… there was nothing in his weapons bunker that seemed appropriate. And anyway, it was safer for his laptop if he kept those toys locked away as he watched the stream from the necklace-cam in the privacy of the strategy table in the Wizards’ clubhouse. 

But Mamori was right: the bastard was too careful. There was nothing explicit. Even his tone was measured, which only managed to heighten its effect. His words were self-effacing, but one wrong move and she would lose her beloved research position. This guy knew what she wanted and was willing to test how far she would go for it. 

In other words, he got off on his own power. If it stayed at that, there might not be reason to worry. 

But the manager had said the news from Aomori was bad. 

So far, the only time this professor had tried to touch her was a sudden movement that made Hiruma nearly jump through the monitor to strangle him. But the way the man was looking urgently somewhere out of the frame made Hiruma hold off.

“Isn’t that…! No, don’t look!” 

The camera moved slightly, then stopped. Hiruma saw the professor withdraw the hand that had been left empty when Mamori had pulled hers away, leaving only the two glasses of half-drunk wine and a low, flickering candle on the table. The camera swayed slightly; Mamori must have been looking behind her, trying not to be obvious at the fuckin’ professor’s request. But despite the motion, Hiruma caught a pale blur appear from behind the table. It hovered over the glass closest to the camera for a split second. Mamori’s glass. 

Something fell...?

The camera swerved.

“Fuck!!” Hiruma grabbed the screen. He swore he had seen something fall. “For fuck’ssake!!!”

He yanked out the power cable and grabbed the laptop, hoisting it in one arm and cradling it there, still open, as he pushed through the door and raced out of the clubhouse. With his other hand he punched out a text message, barely registering in which direction he was running. 

_ — Fuckin’ manager get the fuck out of there!!! _

“I think I should go.” It was Mamori’s voice, although she had not checked her phone. She had already finished the wine.

“I’ll get the bill.” 

Hiruma let up on his breakneck pace, but only slightly. They had decided against an earpiece because it would be too difficult to conceal, even with her hair as long as it was. He could have staked out a location closer to the bar, a rooftop or something, but it was cold even for December. Plus, it was supposed to be a lab party, and she was in a public place surrounded by people. Fuck. He should have thought of something like this. Fuck!

“Fuckin’ lizard breath get over here pronto!!!” Hiruma barked into the phone, his attention still on the video stream. Not much had happened. She was waiting as the bastard handed over a shiny credit card. “I don’t have time to explain, I need wheels— so just move!”

Mamori was walking to the exit. There were only two steps of a small staircase before the door. Suddenly the camera lurched, the carpeted floor swooped up— then stopped, barely a foot from the ground. 

“Whoa, careful…” The voice was suddenly much louder than it had been. The camera righted, but the bastard was too close. Pressed up beside her, his arm around her, from the looks of it. “Looks like you had a little too much to drink.”

This was as much as a confession. Anezaki had American blood— or that’s how Hiruma liked to tease her about her ability to hold her booze. Unlike most Japanese women, who apparently couldn’t handle more than a sip of alcohol without turning red and falling on their faces, the fuckin’ manager could handle at least two glasses of wine before even getting tipsy. If she was stumbling after the skimpy glass they served at that classy joint, it could only mean one thing: he had definitely put something in her drink. 

“Don’t…!” The camera shook violently. She had pushed him back. But in the movement she had tripped again. The carpeting filled the image. Then it turned upward. The professor was there, with his hand outstretched. He pulled her up again. 

“I’ll get you a taxi.” 

When the fuck would the fuckin’ lizard show up already!!?! 

The edge of the bastard’s arm wrapped around her was just visible in the frame.

“You…” Hiruma warned the screen, “had better get your hands off her…” 

The taxi appeared in the image. The door opened. The interior grew. A man’s hand passed a card through the gap between the front seats to the driver. “Take us here, if you please.”

Hiruma cursed. He imagined the worst— no, not a ditch near the river; this bastard wanted her alive. The second worst. The second worst was a love hotel. 

“Oh, someone is going to die tonight…” Hiruma muttered, preparing to run again.

Not a moment too late, an unnecessarily loud motor approached and slowed to a halt beside him. Barely looking up, Hiruma swung onto the back of Habashira’s bike, the laptop still balanced carefully on one arm.  

“Where to?”

“Fuck! I don’t know!” Hiruma frantically called up the GPS tracking software (at least he had gone ahead with  _ that _ feature). They were leaving the bar, but in what direction? 

“What do you mean you don’t  _ know _ !?” Habashira squacked. “You said it was urgent!”   

“Just drive! Straight ahead!” Hiruma studied the map and the moving target blinking on the screen, trying to predict where it was headed. “I’ll tell you when to turn!! Hurry up!!”

The sounds in his headphones were mostly obscured by the blaring engines. He couldn’t make out Mamori’s breathing at all, between the noise and movement of the car. The bastard’s voice was clear and close. 

“You don’t have to worry, Ms. Anezaki,” he said, with his usual composed expression. He must have been leaning in front of her because his face appeared. “I’m going to take care of you.”

His head disappeared from the bottom of the frame. His shoulder or the edge of his back appeared from time to time, but it was not clear what was happening. Hiruma shook the screen, uselessly trying to coax the camera to change angles. Then he thought he could hear the pull and click of a seatbelt. 

“There. Isn’t that more comfortable? And much safer.” The self-satisfied face returned to the screen. “It’s all lies, you know, this idea that drunk people survive car accidents because their bodies are more relaxed. Not worth the risk.” 

The professor disappeared to the side, leaving only the road ahead between the two front seats. Hiruma could make out the taxi driver’s GPS device, but nothing useful such as the destination address. 

“You know, Ms. Anezaki, someday you are going to realize that you have never thanked me for everything I’ve done for you,” said the man off screen. “Maybe one day you will become a professor, and you will understand. All these ungrateful students half-heartedly memorize the knowledge you pour your soul into, without any recognition of the sweat and tears it took to make them. They pass the tests, then discard it all and disappear. But the ones who seem to care are worse. For a second you believe that there is someone else who appreciates what you have done, this calling that you have pledged yourself to. But this kind, too, will disappear. And so you are left where you were before, giving your heart and soul to your work, alone. Maybe, someday, you will understand that wherever you can find pleasure in this work, you have to make the most of that. Otherwise you won’t survive the pressure.”

Goosebumps covered Hiruma’s skin. But suddenly he realized that he recognised the streets flashing by the window. 

“What the ACTUAL fuck!?” he hissed. Then he turned to his reptilian chauffeur. “Fuckin’ lizardbreath, left up here then the second right! Gun it!!!”

The bike tore away, breaking legal limits, headed deep into a familiar neighborhood.

At the Anezaki residence, the professor was helping Mamori up the front path, one arm supporting her under her shoulders. From the end of the cinderblock fence at the far side of the property, a breathless Hiruma watched as her mother opened the door. Her gasp as audible, even from the distance. 

“My apologies, madame, we were celebrating the acceptance of her article but I’m afraid the wine went to her head.” 

The professor transferred the young woman to her mother’s arms with care. 

“Mamori?” her mother seemed stunned. “She can barely stand, how much wine did she have?”

With a shrug he replied, “I trusted that she knew her limits. It was my mistake. I sincerely apologise.”

“No, no. I apologise for the trouble. Thank you for taking care of her,” Mami tried to bow while supporting the barely conscious girl. She closed the door behind her and the professor turned back up the path to the waiting taxi. As he did he caught sight of Hiruma and a smug, mocking smile spread over his face. 

Hiruma discarded the laptop and instead broke out a pair of SAW###s. In long strides he closed the distance between himself and the professor, firing a shower of bullets. But this was a model for coverage, not accuracy, and the man disappeared into the vehicle. Hiruma leaped forward and propped a foot against the door to keep it from closing. He aimed both weapons inside. 

The professor held his phone out in front of him defensively, snapping photos as the sound of a call emitted from the speaker. 

“Thank you for calling 1-1-9. What is your emergency?” asked a voice from the phone.

“Yes, please help, I am being threatened by a man with a gun— two guns, very large. He’s already fired in my direction,”  the professor said with a faux panic. “I am afraid for my life.”

“Please stay calm,” the voice replied. “Law enforcement is being dispatched to your GPS location. Thank you for your patience.”

“We are going to destroy you,” Hiruma told him, ignoring the call. His eyes were white with murder, and his voice seemed to already drip with the blood of his enemies— and yet the man was still alive. 

“Good luck with that,” the professor replied, snapping his phone shut. “Were you trying to protect her? How does it feel?” 

“Tch!” Hiruma adjusted the angle of his weapons but the taxi driver was watching in the front seat, cringing and terrified. Witnesses. Recordings. Fucking  _ hell _ . 

“Just so you know, I will be filing a restraining order against you. So, by all means, do your best...” the professor was incredibly composed considering the semi-automatic rifles pointed at him by the man with burning eyes. “I wouldn’t want you to be disqualified from any sports activities you might be planning to participate in.”

It was a full beat before Hiruma took his foot off the door and lowered the guns. Scowling. The professor shook his head in amusement as the taxi drove away.  

 

~*~ 

 

It was not the birds in the trees, nor the slants of early morning light breaking through her curtains that woke her, but the feeling of her skull splitting in two. Mamori groaned, curling her arms around her head as if that would make any difference. 

“Got some painkillers,” said a familiar voice. 

She cracked her eyes open, but only a little as the light seemed to intensify the pain. She was in bed, in her own room, still dressed in the clothes she had worn the night before, although considerably more wrinkled. Hiruma was on his computer, leaning back in the bentwood chair with his feet on her desk. The painkillers were there too, with a glass of water at the ready. For a moment she cherished the idea that he had thoughtfully put them there, but she quickly came to her senses. That was her mother’s doing, no doubt. 

Mamori sat up to administer the pills. She tried to remember the last time she had felt this terrible, and how much she had to drink to get that way. It didn’t make sense. She was sure she only had one glass of wine… that she could remember.

“Hiruma…” she began. But she didn’t know where to start.

His computer was still open on his lap, but he hadn’t looked at it since she woke up. His eyes were narrower than ever. “You remember what happened?”

She strained to think but her brain throbbed. She couldn’t even shake her head in response without it hurting even more. Maybe after the painkillers took effect it would be easier. “What about the camera?”

“Tch...” Hiruma’s frown was an unrestrained scowl. 

“Hiruma,” she leaned forward, searching his face for clues. “What is it?”

“What do you remember? Nothing?” 

“It’s blurry,” she replied. She tried to search harder through her memories. “He’s interested in celebrities. I was surprised. I don’t know, we just talked.”

“What about the taxi?”

Mamori blinked. “What taxi?” 

Hiruma ran his fingers up the back of his hair with a frustrated sigh. “Fucking hell!” 

“Hiruma!” It scared her a little when he was truly angry and used language like that. It also scared her that she had absolutely no recollection of how she got home. “Tell me what happened! I’m serious. Why don’t I remember anything?”

“Why do you think? What possible reason could there be?”

Mamori’s eyes widened. “I…” She couldn’t bear to imagine it, but there were not many other explanations. 

“Yeah…”

“And the camera?”

He turned the computer toward her. “You were turning. It only took a second. But all we got was this frame… this one... and this one. Three frames.”

“It’s so blurry.” She peered at the image. Knowing what she knew— that is, that she couldn’t remember anything— she was able to interpret that unclear splotch in the image as some kind of pill. It would explain why her head felt like it was splitting in two, which was overwhelmingly real, but nonetheless it seemed impossible. Recently there had been moments when she was able to remember him as an inspiring professor, at times almost endearing. “I can’t believe he would do something like that…”

“You can’t? You said it was bad, at Aomori,” Hiruma reminded her. “We should have…” 

They should have been ready for something like that. 

“Yes… but it wasn’t…” Mamori didn’t know what to say. What she had learned in Aomori was not like this. Drugs were premeditated. There could be no excuses about him being a bit creepy or getting carried away with infatuations. “At least we have something. Some kind of evidence.”

Hiruma was staring at her with a tense jaw. “So you don’t remember anything after?”

“No,” she repeated. “What happened? How did you stop him?” 

“Tch…” Hiruma avoided her eyes, glaring past the Rocket Bear collection on her bookshelf and grinding his teeth. Then he moved to sit beside her on the bed, still without replying, turning the laptop toward her as he scrolled through the footage. Mamori saw it as if for the first time, but everything seemed to echo in her mind. The dim light of the restaurant. The small steps by the exit. The camera entered the taxi. Hiruma stood up and paced as she watched.  

“What doesn’t make any fucking sense is why he would go to the trouble of fucking drugging you, and then just take you home!! To your own home!! Whatever the fuck happened in that taxi is the key!”

The footage ended but Mamori kept staring at the screen. Her thoughts were clearly elsewhere. After a moment she brought her hand to her side, then moved it down her hips and under the blankets. Her heart was racing but she tried to not let it show on her face. 

“Hiruma…” she said after a moment. “Did you… do anything to me last night?”

Hiruma stopped pacing, his eyes fixed on her.

“Please… Hiruma, just...”

“I’m trying to figure out what that bastard did to you!” His hands were tense. “How can you ask something like that!?”

“I am asking because…” She drew a deep breath. “...I am not wearing panties right now. And I am trying to understand why.” 

There was a momentary silence as everything in the room was still. Then the explosion.

“...the ...fuck!?!” Hiruma revealed his weapons and stomped toward the door. 

“Hiruma, where are you going?” It was not so much a question as a warning. 

“To trigger a premature death,” he replied, still marching off. 

“Stop.” 

He slowed and turned to glance at her but didn’t pause. Mamori took on a harsher tone. “Don’t make me say it twice!”

Hiruma stood in the doorway, unmoving for a moment, then turned back on his heel and resumed pacing the length of her tiny bedroom, this time with arsenal on his shoulders. It was a wonder he hadn’t broken any of her furniture. “TCH!! WHAT the  _ actual  _ FUCK-- that bastard is already DEAD!!”

Mamori watched the clip again. She was shaken, in the same way she might have been if someone had broken into her house while she should have been sleeping. Frozen with panic; almost paralyzed, except the racing of the fear through her veins. But as she watched the footage from the taxi and tried to conjure the memories from it, she did not think he had gone farther than theft. 

“It’s a message,” she whispered. It was the only thing that made sense. The ultimate power trip.

This did not seem to calm Hiruma. “It’s  _ evidence _ !” he hissed. “If we find your underwear in his possession, that’s it. Game over. We win. We’ll win this!”

Mamori sighed, putting a hand to her temple against the ache in her head. “How do you plan on doing that? Breaking into his house? The last thing I need right now is you ending up in jail.”

“Tch!” 

“Aside from that,” she reminded him, “it’s the last thing the Wizards need…” 

Hiruma broke from his pacing to face her, arms wide with an assault rifle still balanced on each shoulder. “You’re okay with him just walking away from this? As if nothing happened?”

“I am not okay with it!” Mamori snapped. “But it can wait. The Rice Bowl can’t. Don’t do something stupid.”

It was one of those rare moments when Hiruma didn’t have a response. He glared at her for a moment, then sat on the edge of the bed and flopped back across her legs with a frustrated sigh of what might be interpreted as a defeat. 

“When the fuck have I ever done anything stupid?” he muttered finally. 

Mamori carefully moved the computer from her lap to the desk beside her. She had a no-weapons-on-the-bed rule but she overlooked it for the moment and leaned over him.

“Just don’t start now, that’s all,” she said and placed a kiss on his forehead, softening his scowl. 

 


	9. Chapter 9

To use magic in this game, the name of the spell was _practice._

Therefore, even a team of geniuses like the SaikyouDai Wizards lived and died by their training schedule. And the one who ruled the practices was their strawberry-brunette manager (there was no other term: empress was far too proud, while goddess too otherworldly), setting the schedules and coordinating the support team to ensure every minute of their time was optimized.

It was the first practice of the new year, and for the senior players this practice would be their last. Although Anezaki had stood in front of them with her clipboard before every training session and every game began for the past three and a half years, for the most part they were too focused on their all-consuming goal to take notice of any nostalgic feeling that might be lurking inside— it was, after all, their last chance to win the Rice Bowl. 

In other words, this was possibly the most important practice of their American Football careers. Anezaki was someone they could rely on, to the point that she almost became part of the backdrop, and for the most part they didn’t even think about it. But, for the first time in their collective memory, Anezaki dropped the ball.

Early in the practice, as they had a thousand times already that season, the members of the Wizards clocked their 40-yard dash. Anticipation was as high as the stakes. If even one player could shave a fraction of a second off their time, it would be to their advantage. In sets of five, those running launched across the field at their fastest pace, each with a dedicated support member waiting at the other end to time them. When the second group crossed the goal line, only four results were called out and recorded. Mamori stood with her eyes looking just past her stopwatch for a full second, her thoughts clearly somewhere else, before she realized she had not pressed the button. 

Their captain stopped speaking for the rest of the practice, except when provoked. 

Of course, Mamori had been staring absently earlier that morning, although the only ones who noticed were those who were generally observant (Hiruma, Yamato, Akaba) or those who took a special interest in watching their manager in their spare moments and glances (Hiruma, Ikkyuu, Agon depending on his mood). Her stare was not a daydreaming one, but somewhat troubled and intense. Also of note was the fact that she uncharacteristically checked her phone outside of break times.

Being distracted was one thing, but actually screwing up was unprecedented. By the time they broke for lunch, even the more oblivious members of the team were aware that something was wrong. As the other members of the support team distributed nutritionally-balanced and handmade bento, the gossip began.

“A disquietingly silent sonata…” Akaba mused and adjusted his tinted sunglasses. His eyes were obscured, but he was obviously watching as their captain glowering in the direction of their manager. 

“Did they have a fight?” Ikkyu ventured, hopefully. He was smart enough to know Hiruma was an obstacle, but not smart enough to know when to give up.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Agon rolled his eyes as he bit into a tempura shrimp. “All they do is fight.”

“The timing is bad,” Taka said softly. He did not say what many were thinking: a bad omen.

Juumonji fiddled with the cap of his water bottle. “Ain’t no such thing as luck.” But it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.  

Neither their captain nor their manager ate lunch with the rest of the team (not that their captain ever ate with them). Hiruma followed Mamori to the area behind the bleachers where the equipment and supplies for the practice were being stored, somewhat shielded from the eyes of their teammates. He leaned against the post of the risers, watching as she dropped her stopwatch in the box with the others without so much as a stick of gum to dull his stare. She pulled out her phone and looked at it again, but it was soon clear that even if there was a message on the screen, she was not reading it. 

“Should I let the fuckin’ mini-manager do it?” 

Hiruma’s voice broke through her daze. Mamori snapped her phone shut and looked up at him. “What...?”

“Tomorrow,” he said. “When the college league champions face the winners of the corporate league.”

Mamori pressed her eyes shut as she tried to make sense of his words. “You want Nene-chan to manage the team for the Rice Bowl?”

“Tch.” Hiruma clicked the back of his tongue but otherwise didn’t reply.  

The delay was unbearable. Mamori let her eyelids crack open to try to read his reaction. He was still staring at her, steely eyes in a face of stone. 

“It’s our last chance. You know that.”

This was the only thing he truly cared about, since long before they had even started college. Three tries, three heartbreaks— they had never managed to break past the corporate team, but there had always been a ‘next time’ to prepare for. 

This was the last chance. 

“I’ll do it,” she told him. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“You’ve never been the one I had to worry about,” Hiruma said. “But if you’re like this tomorrow, we’ll lose. Fuckin’ mini-manager isn’t talented, but at least I know exactly what to expect of her.”

Mamori had seen players reduced to tears when Hiruma cut them from the lineup, despite putting their soul into their training. She didn’t live and die for football, not the way he did, but this had been her team for nearly four years. And it was their last chance. 

“No. I’ll do it.” she repeated. “I’ll... take care of things.”

Hiruma’s eyes narrowed even more. “What’re you gonna do?”

Mamori glanced down at her phone again. The message had been a cold, threatening professionalism. She hadn’t gone into the lab once over the week since they had celebrated her article acceptance. If the professor thought she was avoiding him, he was right. Just until the Rice Bowl was done, she had thought.

It was simple enough to accomplish, as there were no classes over winter break and she had already established that there would be a gruelling practice schedule keeping her from the lab. But in reality, she did have a bit of spare time and she filled it with her own concerns. 

Crucially, she had managed to arrange a meeting with one of the members of SaikyouDai's governing council to get feedback on her proposal. She wanted to know before it was brought to the table if the evidence she had collected about her own situation would help convince the members to vote in favour. Somewhat self-conscious, Mamori would have approached a female member if she had a choice, but the governing council was still, archaically but not atypically, entirely composed of men. A council member who did research in women's health agreed to meet with her, however, which she hoped would be the next best thing. But he was still a stranger and a man in a position of power— well, if she was planning to use her case to further the policy changes, she would have to get used to strangers learning the intimate details of her personal life. Luckily, she could count on her anger to push past the uneasiness that made her want to run away and hide. So, with her most professional expression she had showed him the video and asked if the council would be convinced that changes to the current policy were needed.

"Ah, hmm. Well, Ms. Anezaki, it is difficult to say," the council member said after he had viewed it all. "It's not clear that there is harassment here. This individual seems to spend most of his time complimenting your intelligence and character. There seems to be nothing sexual."

Mamori swore she felt the floor falling out from under her. "He put drugs in my drink." 

"Did he? Those frames you pointed out are rather unclear. This is a serious accusation to lay on one of our esteemed faculty members, you know."

"I blacked out after a glass of wine!" 

"Well, women do have a much lower tolerance to alcohol than men on average, and some wines can be quite strong. If you believe you were drugged, I trust you have had tests done."

She had. Unfortunately, the first round of blood tests hadn’t shown anything, but it depended on the substance, and there were other tests, so they had taken more samples— these would be older, and so less accurate, she had been informed, leaving her wondering why they hadn't done all the tests in the first place. All she could do was wait for the results and pray. 

The email from the professor had arrived in the early morning the day before the Rice Bowl, but she planned not to reply until after the game. Foolishly, however, she had read it. The message didn’t mention what he wanted to discuss, but the feeling that she was going to be dismissed overwhelmed her. She felt choked, trapped between the threat and what she was sure she would face if she accepted. She had never expected that a mere email could make her lose track of her duties. She was lucky it had only happened at practice. 

“I’ll take care of it,” she repeated.  

Hiruma eyed her suspiciously but after a long, tense moment he turned as if to rejoin the others at lunch without further protest. For an instant it seemed as if she may have won. But he had not taken a full step before he threw a warning over his shoulder, as he had clearly been planning as his response all along.

“You’re not allowed to quit, by the way," he said, then clarified: "The research group.”

Mamori’s eyes flashed up, wide and startled. “I… I didn’t say that.”

“What else can you do, then?” 

“I said I’ll take care of it!” Mamori replied. “Anyway, it's not your decision to make.” 

Hiruma turned back, retracing his steps to face her. “You’ve forbidden me from doing plenty of things— things that might have resolved this situation before it got to this point— ”

“—Illegal and dangerous things, Hiruma!”

He ignored her comment. “I’ve never seen you look so hungry as when you got into that research group. All intense, like cream puff eyes, except actually happy. You want it more than you’ve ever wanted football. So...” Hiruma grinned and pointed at her, resolute. “I forbid you from quitting!”

Mamori’s shoulders were tense, her hands balled up into fists that shook a little, exactly as she did when she was about to argue. Even her eyes were angry, but her response was strangely quiet.

“I’ll take care of it,” was all she said. Not an argument. Just a little waver in her voice.

This time she was the one to turn on her heel and walk away. 

The afternoon practice went on without incident, though their manager seemed as distracted and cheerless as she had before. The team members were on edge, alert to any potential mistakes, and overall their performance suffered for it. Their captain's mood was foul and only grew fouler as the day wore on, but they were used to verbal and artillery abuse, so none of it could be considered remarkable except perhaps the pacing and intensity. A rumour spread that Anezaki might sit out the game, finally giving some of them pause to consider what her absence might mean, after all those years of her unwavering presence. A hole in the backdrop that they would probably not notice from the moment of the first kickoff, or maybe even before. The game would go on, but it was not good for morale. 

And it would be their last chance. 

Most of the players were still changing when the support team finished cleaning up. Hiruma lingered at the strategy table, reviewing a clipboard of stats from the practice as he pretended to wait for the loudest and most idiotic members to clear out of the changeroom before entering himself, as usual— but in reality he was watching a certain manager from the corner of his eye.  Still in her tracksuit, Mamori walked directly up to him with her bag and a determined expression. 

“I’m leaving now. You will not follow me,” she said. “Is that clear?”

Hiruma scowled. Clearly he had been intending just that. “You know what happened the last time you met with that bastard.” 

“Yes, I remember,” she replied, despite not truly remembering, with an annoyed flicker of her eyelashes at the idea he thought she needed to be reminded. 

“We miscalculated. It could’ve been a thousand times worse than it was!”

“And the Rice Bowl is tomorrow, and he has a restraining order on you.” She didn’t know how many times she had to say it. “Promise me you won’t do anything.”   

“Tch. As if I’d make a stupid promise like that,” he scoffed, short of temper. “If you wait, until after— tomorrow night, or the day after tomorrow, or whatever— then the fuckin’ restraining order won’t matter. We’ll bring all hell down on him, just like he deserves.”

“And miss the Rice Bowl?” Mamori replied. “The Babels finally made it to the championship and you want me to sit it out? Because of that… _person_? I won’t let him take this from me. I’m part of this team, too, Hiruma!” 

“You don’t know what will happen, and if you get hurt it’s all over.” Hiruma leaned over her with no apparent lack of arguments, but his frustrated, impatient tone was tinged with the slightest hint of desperation. “How the fuck am I going to keep you from getting hurt if you don’t let me destroy the people who seem intent on hurting you!?”

“How are we going to become the Rice Bowl champions if our captain is in prison?” Mamori shot back, stern against the sweet ache in her heart. _I love you I love you let's destroy him…_ "If he even sees you he will call the police! _Then_ it's over!!"

“Keh— he can't call the cops if he's dead…”

“Hiruma!!”

“Why not?” he demanded. “After what he's done?”

“ _Because_! I don't want to be with a murderer, Hiruma!” she replied, desperately frustrated. “Promise me you won’t come within 500 metres of him!” 

Hiruma narrowed his eyes, but there was a light there too. His eyebrows soared and a grin of toothy mischief broke across his face. “Five hundred metres. Fine.”

Mamori frowned at the sudden change. "And no guns."

"Kehkehkeh!!" Hiruma replied, his anger completely transformed into his familar triangular smile. He considered the pile of practice stats on the table and picked up a new clipboard to examine. "Fine." 

“Fine?” Mamori repeated, wary. She watched him carefully, trying to read him. “Hiruma, what—”

“Fine, go,” Hiruma turned a page, then waved a hand as if to shoo her away. “Take care of things. Don’t worry about me.” 

Mamori was suddenly too suspicious to leave, but reluctantly moved toward the exit.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Hiruma called out just before she reached the door. 

The camera necklace dangled from his fingers. 

Despite spending most of the day arguing Mamori couldn't help but smile. Maybe whatever he was plotting wasn't completely insane afterall. "We're meeting in his office, though— you know, that room that you planted four cameras already?" 

"Four is good," he grinned. "Five is better." 

She lifted her jacket and t-shirt up high enough that he could attach the power and transmitter to her back with tape. He latched the necklace around her neck and strung the wires down through the collar of her shirt to connect. A light on the transmitter shone green, another blinked blue, but when she let her clothes hang normally they were completely blocked from view. 

"Do you think it looks a bit strange with the tracksuit?" Mamori asked. The tear-shaped crystal pendant wasn’t subtle, large enough to fit a camera lens and sensor inside. With her normal clothes it could pass as a regular accessory, but with sportswear it stood out, glaringly.  

"Keh. I don't care how it looks," Hiruma replied. But he pulled the collar of her tracksuit up so it covered all but the large pendant, which peeked out just above the pull of the zipper. 

Shortly thereafter, Mamori was crossing the athletic grounds in the crisp afternoon air. Hiruma turned immediately to his laptop. He could still hear his idiot teammates joking as they left the showers. Hiruma pulled up the video feeds from the various cameras he had planted. He kicked his feet up on the desk to watch— it could be a while before she made it to the east wing, but examining the bastard's behaviour could help him deploy his minions in a timely way. But seconds later his feet were on the floor again. 

"Bloody fuckin' _hell_!" Hiruma swore. He ripped open his bag of burner phones and dialed without taking his eyes off the screen. 

"Hello, excuse me." Pinching his nose, Hirmua's voice became a high, nasal whine. "I'm calling about a door repair…"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * in previous fics I have sworn that Juumonji was not a Wizards player, but since that time I have been convinced otherwise. It makes a lot of sense considering the theme of the last volume of the manga is breaking up close friends and making rivals out of them!!! Bwahahah.....
> 
> \-- 
> 
> Thanks for your patience waiting for these last few chapters. It's has been really, really difficult to work through these themes. 
> 
> But, the good news is I have finished chapter 10, the concluding chapter, so I will post it by Friday next week!!! 
> 
> xoxoxoxo hope you are well!!!!!!!!


	10. Chapter 10

The professor’s office was not large, but its walls were lined from floor to ceiling with shelves that sagged under the weight of thousands of books. He stood at one of them, so lost in thought that he didn’t even notice when Mamori arrived in the doorway. At first she thought he might be examining the titles on the spines, but his eyes seemed too distant to be actually reading them. 

Mamori hesitated a moment, watching him stare past the books before knocking gently. “Excuse me, professor…?” 

The sound failed to break his contemplation at first. When he finally responded, he barely glanced up at her. His voice was soft, like someone defeated.  

“Ms. Anezaki, come in.” 

She entered but the professor did not move from his place beside the bookshelf. She had been prepared for a coldblooded battle, but her opponent seemed to have already lost heart. Against her better judgement, some part of her felt worried for him. 

After many moments of silence had accumulated she wondered if she should ask if he was alright, but the professor finally spoke.

“Are you aware, Ms. Anezaki, that I am a leading scholar in my field?” 

“Of course…” Mamori replied, cautiously. 

“So you realize, then, that I am not an idiot…” He finally stepped away from the bookshelf, but rested a hand on the edge of the open door as if to keep himself standing upright. His eyes were searching in despair. “You understand I am actually a somewhat intelligent man?”

Any concern for him that had may have been forming in her dissolved. It was a trap, she knew, but two could play at that game. She met his eyes with calm confidence. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

“I invite you to take a look at my desk,” he replied, a dark look growing under his forlorn facade, “and see if you can answer that question.”

As requested, Mamori turned her attention to his wide oak desk. The four cameras that Hiruma had hidden lay in a tangled pile. Found. 

She heard the door close behind her and the clack of the lock before she could turn to face him. When she did, he was advancing on her in slow, angry steps, but advancing. 

Mamori took a step back without breaking her cool gaze or cowering, not even slightly. Her heart was beating like a hummingbird in her throat, so fast she was afraid it might fly away, but she refused to let him see any panic in her eyes. She had faced scarier men before. And she could win, she knew, if she could just be convincing.  

“I did everything for you, and you betrayed my trust.” His voice was calm but his eyes were focused now. Focused on her, deadly serious as he moved forward. “A very risky decision...”

Mamori stepped back to keep the distance between them but held her head high. “Why would you suspect me?” she asked. Her breathing had to stay steady. She wasn’t afraid— she was going to win, after all. Breathe. “What evidence do you have?” 

He paused at that; a flicker in his expression that bloomed into a half smirk. “True, you are too intelligent to do something so stupid. But it would be a terrible contravention of a restraining order, if it were someone else.”

Mamori didn’t rise to the bait, her glare unwavering. He frowned and took another step, now uncomfortably close, but when Mamori moved her heel back in retreat her thigh bumped against the edge of the desk. He leaned closer, resting his hands on the edge of the desk on either side of her, blocking any means to slip past him. 

“A bold and risky move, but for what?” he said softly. “When have I been anything but an exemplary, supportive mentor to you? So many cameras, Ms. Anezaki, but what did they possibly see?”

Mamori had to lean back to keep their torsos from touching, which made it difficult to appear composed and defiant. “It doesn’t matter. I have the blood tests.”

The professor contemplated her a moment with his smug smile, his face scarce inches from hers, then shook his head gently. “You have gotten much better at lying, Ms. Anezaki. But you can’t hope to fool a leading behavioural psychologist like myself.” 

“I could destroy your career,” she said, hoping that sticking to the lie could make him doubt his conclusion.

“But you don’t have anything.” He traced the edge of her hair with his fingers, but his arms still framed her and his body was so close she had to press herself against the desk to keep him from leaning on her. “If you did, you would have probable cause. You could get a warrant to search my home and office, although there would be nothing to find. But I would know about it, if those tests had shown something. You don’t have them.”  

She willed herself not to crack— to breathe, to pretend she still had the upper hand. “And if I didn’t want you arrested? What if I want something else?”

“Yes, you should tell me what you want. I would very gratefully satisfy you.” He pushed her hair back from her shoulders, exposing her neck. His hands lightly drew a line along the length of it on either side. A chill ran through her, but she bit her lip to the point of bleeding rather than let it show.  

“We are going to win!” Mamori spit out the warning with more emotion than she had intended, eyes of venom, holding her chin up higher than ever. 

The professor seemed amused by that, but his eyebrows creased together thoughtfully. “Where does all this confidence come from? You need to be careful, some people find that kind of attitude irresistible...” 

He pulled back to look at her from head to toe. The space was a relief, like a gasping breath of air after being nearly drowned, but the way he was staring at her was infuriating. Her hand darted out to slap him, but he caught her wrist in one quick movement, holding it tight. In the same instant, his eyes were drawn to something and he reached out to her chest. This time her slap connected, striking him full in the face with her free hand— but he didn’t try to block it. Instead she felt the rip of the tape on her back and cords pulling through her collar as he grabbed her pendant and tore it from her neck. It fell to the floor and cracked under his heel. 

“You are a most impressive woman.” 

The professor’s eyes were daggers, dark and deadly and sharp, and his face was red where her slap had landed, but his expression was still vaguely amused. Twisting her wrist against his grip to try to break free, she launched another strike with her other hand. This time he caught it. With both her wrists trapped, held firmly with more strength than she might have imagined for a bookish man, Mamori forgot to keep her breathing even. Her pulse was so fast she felt she might faint. 

“You will let go of me,” she swore. It was anger and outrage that kept her standing. “Or you will wish you had!”  

“You weren’t flattered by all the attention I have given you, Ms. Anezaki?” He put his face close to her neck, breathing in her skin. “You didn’t notice how long I waited for you to return it? Taking you directly home without so much as touching you... How many men could be as patient as I have been?” 

He wedged a foot between hers and pushed them apart, creating a space between her legs that he pressed a knee into, forcing them wider. 

“You won’t,” Mamori said through clenched teeth. 

“Won’t I?” His weight on her pelvis crushed her against the desk and his breath on her skin made her hair stand on end. Kicking only seemed to throw her off balance. 

“You drugged me but you didn’t touch me— why would you do that? What did you gain?” Mamori said, still struggling against him. “You wanted me to feel powerless. Because you want me to say yes. You want me to feel like I have no other choice. Just like you did with Matsumura-san.”

The professor looked at her, startled, and his weight eased slightly. “You know about her?”

“I met her in Aomori,” Mamori replied. “And I would take you down in flames for what you did to her.” 

“She wanted me, she wanted everything that we did together, and she was the one who left,” he said, tightening his grip on her wrists. “You can’t turn that around on me.”  

“She was your student! You were supposed to protect her!”

“I would have protected her, if she stayed! I would have taken care of her, better than anyone!” he shot back. “Love doesn’t care if you are a student or a principal or a convenience store worker. We are powerless against it.”  

“Love?” For a moment Mamori was too astounded to struggle. “You betrayed her! You betrayed me! We were supposed to be able to trust you!” 

“You can trust me. I would do anything for you, as I did for her. I did everything, and she disappeared without a word.”

“You drugged me!” Mamori exclaimed. 

“I was competing with a powerful man. And what do women love more than power?” 

Mamori's mouth opened and closed, speechless, but not for lack of an answer. It exploded from her in the next instant: “Respect!!” 

“Respect!” he laughed. “I deeply respect and admire you, Mamori, you know that— but I want to respect you even more deeply.”

He pressed a hand to her hip, searching for the space at the bottom of her shirt that would give access to her skin. This action, however, freed one of her wrists. She struck at his face again, intercepting his mouth from connecting with her throat. But his hand under her shirt had slid up to cup her breast, squeezing and searching for the nipple through her bra with his thumb. She tried to use her free arm to push his off, trying to use her weight— her knees, her shoulders— to throw him off balance, but he kept his hips pinned against hers, and with the wrist he still held he could pull her close or push her back onto the desk with the cameras, countering her movements as he pleased.  

“Mamori, Mamori...” His breath was heavy. “The more difficult something is the more rewarding, don’t you think?” 

His hand left her breast to run down her back, fingers grasping over her hips to slip under the waistband of her jogging pants. This time it was her elbow that she launched at his face with a cry of anger. He was knocked back, but only slightly, and the space between the desk and her body allowed him to move his hand lower, grasping the flesh of her ass between his fingers. He could pull her against him, like this, instead of pressing himself on her, but her struggling only earned her a place pinned to the desk again, painful under his weight. 

"Don't do this..." Mamori was almost too angry to be afraid. "You’re my mentor, you’re supposed to be a good person!" 

The professor met her eyes, his body still pressed against her with one hand down her pants. He seemed to be searching her intention, trying to decode whether her words were a lie or truth.

Then the door burst off its hinges in a sudden blast of sound and wood splinters. 

The explosion made both Mamori and her assailant freeze out of shock. As the dust cleared, a man in the doorway became visible, one leg still poised in the air from the kick that had removed the obstacle of the door. Behind him, a dozen other men loomed, although not half as menacing as the one in the front. 

“I was promised bones,” Agon put his leg down and cracked his neck. “Is this the trash?”

“Agon-kun…” Mamori’s eyes widened in surprise as she realized what she was seeing. “Everyone!” 

It wasn’t quite everyone. A certain bleach-blond quarterback was absent. Mamori breathed a sigh of relief, for his absence and for this interruption— so relieved that she was only slightly mortified that her team had seen her in such a compromised position.  

The professor had swiftly moved away from the desk, pulling Mamori up in the movement but leaving her a few steps away from him. He put on an unconcerned demeanor and produced a cellphone which he held in front of him like a weapon. 

“Look at this damage to university property! I certainly feel personally threatened, right now,” he said loudly. “I am going to have to ask you to leave, or I will have to call the police.” 

“Interesting,” Juumonji said with complete disinterest, joining Agon in cornering the man. 

In a flash Taka was beside the professor, gently and deftly snatching the phone from his hand. Any reflex the professor might have to retrieve it was blocked by Agon and Juumonji, as well as Banba. Ikkyuu was already by Mamori’s side. Yamato had not left the doorway, holding the team camcorder pointed at the scene. Picking his way across fragments of the door, Taka retreated to Yamato’s side with the professor’s cellphone in hand.

“Hmm... nice shot, but I like ours better,” Yamato said, comparing the two screens. He pressed a few buttons on the phone. “Oh, ‘permanently deleted’? I thought that was the ‘back’ button. My apologies.”  

The professor was starting to sweat visibly. “I can have you all arrested!” 

“Yeah?” Agon sneered. He cracked his knuckles and took a step forward with a wicked stare. “Scary.”   

“How are you going to do that, exactly?” Akaba asked as he, too, stepped forward.

“We can also call the police on you,” Taka pointed out softly.

“Mamor— ” The professor turned to her, then stopped mid-syllable. “Ms. Anezaki, tell them to be reasonable!”

Then they heard a rough voice from the hallway.

"We're here about a broken… door?" 

A team of construction workers had arrived, probably more than were necessary for such a task. One scratched his forehead just below the brim of his cowboy hat. “Well, now, who woulda guessed...”   

Juumonji checked the scene over his shoulder. “Haa?"

“Haa!?”

“HAA!?!” 

Kuroki dropped his toolbox and Togano stared back, mouth gaping, but managed to keep his grip on his end of the replacement door he carried with Tetsuma. Their foreman shook his head with an enigmatic expression, amused and exasperated at once.

The professor was still surrounded, but the members of the Wizards promptly ignored him as they turned their attention to their rivals.

“What the hell?” Agon snarled. “You think you can beat us, huh? Get back to practice, ladies!”

“We’re a corporate team— if we don’t do our jobs, we’ll be disqualified.” Onihei wore a smug smile as he observed their surroundings. “Looks like we caught you studying. Maybe the Wizards are known for strategy, but what good will getting smarter do against our strength!?” 

From the hallway, a monster grinned down at them over the heads of his teammates. A tear slid down Taka’s pale cheek. “Beautiful Gao-kun, it has been too long!”

“We’ll hella destroy you tomorrow!” Ikkyuu shouted anxiously. “But for now, what about Mamori-sempai?” 

All eyes turned to the woman standing at the centre of the room, and then to the man surrounded by Wizards players.

“Anezaki, is there a problem here?” Musashi asked. The absence of a mutual friend was enough to make the situation seems suspicious. “Though you’ve got plenty of help already, looks like.” 

“The door would be helpful, Gen, thank you,” Mamori admitted. “And I’m sorry... I didn’t know.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that at all,” Musashi gave her a tight smile before he turned to his team and put them to work, cleaning up the debris of the old door and changing the hinges to match the new. 

“We have some compromising footage, Anezaki-san,” Yamato confirmed. 

“And this trash body, still intact— well, mostly...” Agon reminded her, turning the man’s face with a thumb to his jaw to examine his swollen bruises. The sight of them made him chuckle. “Kukukuku… Not cat scratches either, it’s not bad work, fuckin’ manager!”

Mamori had closed her eyes to stay calm and think clearly, but now she opened them.

“I’m fine, really, Ikkyuu-kun, thank you,” she said, turning to the anxious cornerback at her side. “Could you take the footage to the captain, please?” Although she dared not mention his name, who else would she trust with such precious data? She couldn’t let anything happen to it, and she knew too well that any number of things could go wrong without warning. 

Ikkyu retrieved the camcorder from Yamato and disappeared in a flash. 

“What beat do you want him to dance to, m’lady?” Akaba produced a guitar from the air as his teammates rolled their eyes. “What tune should he sing?”

Mamori turned a steely glare toward the professor through the screen of American football players. He was adjusting his tie, still clinging to his usual smug confidence. But even that was crumbling. 

“Ms. Anezaki, don’t do this. It is just a misunderstanding. There must be something… some way of moving past this, whatever these friends of yours think they saw.” 

“What about all the other things?” 

“I never meant—” 

“—I know what you meant,” Mamori interrupted him. Her wrists ached. “It doesn’t matter. I have the proof now, you heard him. The governing council will have to respond.”

“Ma— Ms. Anezaki, listen to what you’re saying. If they dismiss me, I’ll lose my funding—”

Mamori turned burning, furious eyes on him. “—something you should have thought about _before_ sexually _harassing_ and _assaulting_ your students!” 

“That funding is attached to me, as the primary investigator. If I go, the research group closes. Is that what you want?”

“Yes! I want justice! I want policies to protect everyone from people like you!”

“If the research group closes, then you and all the other RAs lose: your jobs, your experience, your publications… everything.” 

“Do you think I care about that?” Mamori said. She may have cared once, more than anything, but that was before. Ambition was much more easily forgotten than his breath and his hands and his weight against her.  

“Not for yourself, but what about your colleagues?” 

It did give Mamori pause, but she couldn’t see any way around it.

“This evidence, it won’t stick. You know that,” he continued. “I’ll tell them that you came to me, that you begged me, and I was too tender hearted to turn you away. Who will they believe, you or me?”

As much as she wanted to believe otherwise, her experience up to that point forced her to agree. Between a renowned researcher and some undergraduate, who would they believe? Her mind raced as she tried to remember what he had said before he had discovered the necklace-cam. But there was nothing that would clearly prove her case. Mamori was angry to the point of tears. _Why couldn’t she win?!_

_— He can’t call the cops if he’s dead…_

“Agon-kun…” she began. She could barely believe her own ears, the sound of her own voice. What was she doing? The Rice Bowl was less than a day away. “Start with his jaw. I don’t want him to be able to speak.”

“Oh-ho…!” Agon’s pleasure and surprise at the request made for a terrifying grin. 

“Then his fingers.” Breaking his jaw would be of no use if he could spread lies in writing.   

Agon cracked his neck and took a step forward. 

“Mamori, wait! There are other wa—” the professor’s back pressed against the bookshelf as he tried to escape the advancing man. “You said you wanted something else. I will… I can… I can be…”

“Obedient?” Mamori suggested. 

“Cooperative.” 

“She said, obedient,” Juumonji interrupted. “Try again, dumbass.”

“Yes, of-of-of-of course, obedient,” the cowering man repeated. He folded his arms across his head to protect himself. 

Agon grabbed the man by the shirt, pulling him up a foot above the ground. He wound up a fist high and fast behind his shoulder. 

“Mam— Ms. Anezaki, I swear I will do whatever you ask! Anything!”

Mamori struggled to overcome the reluctance she felt, forcing herself to say the words. “That’s enough, Agon-kun. There has been a change of plan.”

The punch released but only grazed the side of the man’s face. Then Agon snarled and dropped the professor on the floor with an impatient shove. 

“You trash will regret wasting my time.” 

He pushed past his teammates, crossing to the door with a glare at the rival team who were finishing up the door installation and a darker one at Mamori. “If we lose tomorrow, it’s your fault. Remember that,” he muttered as he stalked out of the room. 

“He’ll be fine,” Yamato smiled when he was out of earshot. 

“Covering the training room punching bags with body pillow covers seems to work wonders on his temper.” Akaba added. “But still, that’s not much reason to lose tomorrow.”

Mamori nodded, but then her head and shoulders dropped into half-formed bow to the remaining team members. “I’m sorry that you had to be involved.” 

“We were already involved, indirectly.” Juumonji shrugged. “Better to do something than sit around worrying. You do have a plan, though, right?” 

“Oh yes,” she said, turning her attention across the room to where the professor was picking himself off the floor. “I have a plan.”

 

~*~

 

 _—_ “The university governing council has received a proposal from the student union. The document proposes modifications to the existing sexual harassment policy and the creation of a sexual harassment resource and support centre. Is there a motion to entertain this proposal.”

 _—_ “Motion to deliberate.”

 _—_ “Seconded.”

 _—_ “We have a seconder. The proposal is now on the table for deliberation.”

The walls of the governing council meeting room were panelled in what could only be mahogany. Other than the solemn portraits of the past presidents that nearly made a complete circle of the room, the only decoration was a traditional flower arrangement on a pedestal near the entrance. Each person at the huge oval table wore a conservative suit in dark, expensive fabrics with a subtle tie in variations of the SaikyouDai colours. The only women present were found among the audience members, seated along the outside of the room under the paintings of old distinguished men. With one exception, the audience members also wore suits (albeit of less exquisite quality)— it was a meeting of the highest decision-making body in the university, after all.

A man seated at the table cleared his throat to address the room. “Mr Speaker, I wish draw the council’s attention to SaikyouDai’s spotless track record on sexual harassment under the current policy.” 

“Thank you for that information, councillor.” 

“I would also remind the council that any case of sexual harassment threatens the reputation of the University and could negatively impact our standings in national and international ratings. Any changes to this policy must consider the impact it may have on the University’s overall performance and reputation.” 

The meeting chair noted that the student union president had his hand raised. 

“The proposal document was distributed to the council prior to this meeting for their consideration, but as motivators, the student union would like to present supporting materials.” The student was half the age of the next youngest person at the table. “We ask permission for the professor from the Department of Early Childhood Education and National Research Chair in Behavioural Psychology to present.”

The speaker nodded. “You have the floor, Professor.” 

“Thank you, Mr Speaker.” The professor stepped forward from his seat in the audience, and all eyes turned to him— including a narrow pair that stared over a bubble of pink chewing gum. The gum hid his face, but it did not hide skulls on the t-shirt under his black leather jacket, nor the automatic weapon that rested on his shoulder. The seats on either side of him were empty, despite his resemblance to the captain of SaikyouDai’s celebrated amefuto team. 

“I submit for your consideration a report on sexual harassment which I have prepared based on the most current research in behavioural psychology and related fields.” The professor focused his attention on the council table, trying to ignore the ominous presence just behind them.  “I wish to draw your attention to the insidious nature of this important problem in our society; the psychological impact on the targets of harassment, the difficulty of securing evidence, the ability of perpetrators to deflect accusations, and even the tendency for these men to try to convince their victims that they simply imagined their abuses— a tactic known as gas-lighting.” 

Copies of a stapled printout were distributed among the council members.

“Broadly, this is a problem must approach with seriousness as a society if we wish to overcome it. But within the context of the university, sexual harassment is scaffolded by a specific power structure. Students are particularly vulnerable to professors who can use both incentives or threats to their academic record to exact favours. These incidents go unreported for fear of retaliation...”

The professor continued, presenting the results of various studies that supported the proposal on the table. 

The audience member chewing bubblegum began gesturing with his hands. On the opposite side of the room, another audience member glared at him, her expression a perfect mix of anger and embarrassment; she promptly turned her head and pretended to ignore him. 

He eventually pulled out a phone and tapped out a message. Immediately the pocket of the woman’s blazer vibrated. She ignored that too, but a series of message indications at shorter and shorter intervals caused her to snap. As discreetly as possible, she slipped her hand in her pocket and  pulled out her phone. 

_— he looks alive_

_— and healthy_

_— TOO alive and healthy >:F _

_— he looks like a fuckin good guy hero for fuckssake!_

_— @% &!^%$@%* _

_— ur definition of destroy is weird_

_— just sayin_

_— !!!_

Mamori shot a dark look at the smirking man across the room, trying to convey her displeasure, but Hiruma kept typing anyway. 

_— u sure ur ok with this?_

Waiting for her policy to be debated for the last time filled her with anxiety, and even being in the same room as the professor was enough to make her shake. Hiruma’s messages distracted her for a moment at least. But it would not make a good impression on the governing council if the person who had initiated the policy was caught texting during the discussion. Mamori tried to type without looking, keeping her face turned attentively toward the presenter, but the result was barely readable: 

_— i needed smone they wld beleve_

The professor was proposing amendments to the proposal, arguing for additional provisions including an orientation for students, faculty and staff, as well as a mandatory reporting policy for faculty who suspect their colleagues. 

_— Looks liek u converted him to the cause, anyway; a knight in shining armor for poor victimized students._

Mamori took the time to secretly proofread before sending her next message.  

_— I’m sure your M16 is all the motivation he needs._

Hiruma’s mouth was a wide open toothy triangle and from his eyes tears poured like rivers; but all of this was remarkably silent. 

_— AK47 this time KEHKEHKEH_

A debate was in progress, with many noble ideals espoused, but the thorny issue of the impact on the University’s reputation remained a sticking point. It was clear that many council members felt it was better to sweep this problem under the rug than take measures to address it. As Mamori listened to their arguments, it felt like she was on a ship that was being slowly dragged into an old, dark sea. She clasped her hands together, abandoning her phone on her lap. It pulsed, but she didn’t check the messages; she was too focused on her prayers.  

Then a public relations expert from the Standing Committee for Long-term Strategy, Promotion and Outreach took on the issue:  

“From the perspective of becoming a next generation university, adopting the proposed policy would be advantageous. SaikyouDai can establish itself as at the forefront of progressive change and a leader among Japan’s post-secondary institutions.  This is in addition to contributing to an environment that is welcoming female academics, who make up greater proportions of both students and faculty each year, consequently giving us an edge in attracting and retaining leading and emerging scholars.” 

Mamori’s heart rose, hope against hope. Her eyes locked on Hiruma, grinning with his knowing, mocking confidence, but she quickly turned toward the student union president to make sure he knew to respond. He already had his hand raised, half-jumping from his seat to not miss the timing.

“Mr Speaker, I would like to call to question!” 

“Is there anyone opposed to moving to a vote on the proposal under consideration?” the Speaker asked. He paused to look for replies. “Seeing none, we move to the vote.”

 

~*~

 

By the time she stepped out of the administration building, Mamori was almost too weak to walk. She had bowed to every person in the governing council room deeply, and many of them more than once, and it had taken a great deal of energy to suppress her impulse to jump up and hug each of them— almost as much energy as it took to keep from crying. 

She stood on the front entrance steps, blinking against the sun and the tears: tears of pride, of relief, and of exhaustion. Suddenly an arm wrapped around her shoulders. 

“Well, Ms. Anezaki, apparently you get everything that you want,” said a voice in her ear, smiling and smug. “I hope you’re happy now.” 

Under normal conditions, Mamori would have pushed his arm away, but she found she didn’t have enough strength. Instead, despite herself, she let her head rest against his shoulder. 

“Please don’t call me that,” she murmured.

Hiruma grinned. “Well, I can’t call you fuckin’ manager anymore.” 

“You were never supposed to call me that anyway!” she reminded him.

“Protectrice of the fuckin’ realm?”

Mamori turned up her nose. “You really don’t need that extra adjective…!” 

Hiruma laughed and wrapped his forearm over her head as they walked out the SaikyouDai gates. His hand rested on the top of her hair, but the overall effect was to lock her against his shoulder. “Protectrice of the realm, destroyer of assholes, bastard-jerks, and perverts… except the ones you let live…kehkehkehkehkeh!”

His arm was blocking her vision but leaning against him gave her enough strength to keep walking, so she decided to trust him to make sure they didn’t walk into anything.

“Yes… well I don’t get everything I want, actually,” Mamori replied. “But he was more use to me alive.”

“Pretty sure you’re the reason mophead got MVP, too,” Hiruma added. “Every time he saw you on the sidelines he got all fired up for destruction.” 

Mamori wasn’t exactly comfortable taking credit for Agon’s performance or his rage. “I was just being a regular manager.”

“Nothing is fuckin’ regular about you, woman.” Hiruma laughed. “Something shitty happens to you and you escalate that shit until a room full of elitist old farts choke to death on policy!” 

“Honestly, Hiruma, they didn’t _die_!” she scowled. But remembering the governing council vote put a song in her heart and soon she was smiling again. 

Her research, her team, her policy...

Maybe it wasn’t everything, but they had won.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was more graphic than I had expected to go... I am not sure my ratings/warnings are really appropriate now. 
> 
> Also I'm not sure I am 100% satisfied with the outcome, but we don't always get what we want!! :(((((
> 
> I promise to only write sappy romances from now on!!!


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